THE 


FOREST  PILGRIMS, 


AND 


OTHER  POEMS. 


BY 


M.    F.    BIGNEY, 

•' 


NEW    ORLEANS: 
J  A  M  E  S      A  .     G  R  B  S  H  A  M , 

92  CAMP  STREET, 
x  E  w    YORK:     M  .    no  o  i>  A  n  Y. 

1867. 


: 


ENTERED,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1866,  by 
M.    DOOLADY, 

In  the  Clerk's   Ofllce  of  the  United  States  District  Court  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


JOHN   J.    REED,    PRINTER    AND     8TEREOTYPKR, 

43  Centre  Street,  N.  Y. 


THIS 

LITTLE  VOLUME, 

PRODUCED  IN   "HOURS   OF  IDLENESS," 

IS 

RESPECTFULLY    AND    AFFECTIONATELY    DEDICATED 
TO 

FRIENDS  AND  RELATIVES, 

WIDELY    SCATTERED    OVER    A   "BOUNDLESS    CONTINENT. 
New  Orleans,  December,  1866. 


M19181! 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

The  Forest  Pilgrims 13 

The  Lament 31 

The  Song  of  Commerce 35 

The  Mother's  Lyric 37 

The  Moosehead  Lake 39 

Innocence 41 

The  Legend  of  Belle  Isle 43 

The  "Wind-God's  Song 47 

A  Mother's  Questionings 49 

To  the  Magnolia 51 

Hope — A  Fragment 53 

Last  Island 55 

The  Shadow  on  the  Pillow 62 

The  Eagle  and  the  Dove 65 

Lines  to ....  .69 


X  CONTEXTS. 

PAGE 

Lines  on  George  Cooke,  Esq 71 

Eeligion,  Poetry  and  Music 73 

Address 75 

Lines 78 

The  Mayflower  of  the  North 80 

Fragment  of  a  Poern 82 

Wreck  of  the  Nautilus 84 

Wonders  of  Nature 88 

What  is  Love  like? 91 

The  Mourners  Wail 93 

The  Pleasures  of  Piety 96 

Visit  of  the  Sunbeams  to  the  Falls  of  Niagara. . .  98 

The  Song  of  Labor 100 

Henry  Clay 103 

Light 108 

Keep  Step  to  the  Music 110 

Lines 112 

The  Dream  of  the  First  Infant 114 

Ode  to  Spring 119 

Lines 123 

Farewell 125 

The  Forsaken  One ; 12G 

The  Journey  of  a  Sigh 131 

A  Vision.,  ..132 


CONTENTS.  XI 

PAGE 

Song  of  the  New  Year 143 

Impromptu 146 

I  Eemember  Thee 147 

Lines 149 

Lines 150 

Lines 151 

The  Greek  Slave 153 

O,  think  not  that  I  do  not  Feel ! 155 

Nothing  to  Eat : 157 

The  Ways  of  Christendom 163 

My  Brothers'  Graves 180 

Solitude 182 

Lines  to 184 

On  the  Death  of  an  Aged  Clergyman 185 

Lines  to 187 

Lines 188 

Little  Willie 189 

O  let  me  Dream 191 

For  Thee,  my  Love,  for  Thee !  193 

The  Light  of  My  Loved  One's  Eyes 195 

Forgetting  Thee  ? 197 

Out,  out  into  the  Sunlight 198 

The  Golden  Chain 201 

Song  of  Welcome 203 


Xll  .       CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Domestic  Felicity 205 

Give  me  the  Harp : °" 

Lines 21.. 

The  Coming  of  the  Spring 214 

Brothers,  Arise 216 

Gone 219 

I've  Kissed  Her  in  a  Dream 220 

The  Parting 222 

Song  of  the  Netf  Year 224 

Science  and  Art 227 

Ella  Lee 233 

The  Voyage  of  Life 235 

New  Year  Day — Jan.  1st,  1863 241 

A  Poetical  Bouquet  of  the  United  States 244 

Compensation 255 

Lines  . .  . .  258 


THE    FOREST    PILGRIMS. 


[There  is  a  tradition  to  the  effect  that  one  of  the  original 
Pilgrim  Fathers,  after  sojourning  for  some  years  in  the  Old 
Colony,  became  dissatisfied  with  the  treatment  he  had 
received  at  the  hands  of  his  brethren,  and  with  his  two 
children,  a  son  and  daughter,  abandoned  civilization,  crossed 
the  Alleghany  mountains,  and  both  he  and  his  were  slain  by 
the  Indians.] 


A  LONELY  cottage  in  New  England  stood, 
Where  a  fair  glade  in  the  majestic  wood 
Opened  its  hill-side  bosorn  to  the  breeze, 
Whose  wings  had  wanton'd  o'er  Atlantic  seas. 
Beside  a  casement  in  that  cottage  were 
A  brother  and  a  sister,  fond  and  fair  : 
Suited  to  each,  there  was  in  either  face, 
A  well-apportioned  beauty  which  might  grace 
Earth's  highest  courts ;   while  round  them  love 

divine 
Threw  its  effulgence,  as  a  sacred  sign. 

'Twas  on  an  eve  in  May.     The  rosy  sheen 
Of  evening  lingered  o'er  that  sylvan  scene, 


14  THE    FOREST   PILGRIMS. 

And  the  fond  promise  of  a  morrow,  bright, 
Gave  added  glories  to  approaching  night. 
On  the  fair  scene  the  gazers,  lingering,  look. 
The  air  was  balm.     The  music  of  a  brook 
Mingled  melodious  with  the  vesper  hymn 
Of  nature's  minstrels  from  each  forest  limb. 
;Twas  their  last  evening  gaze.     That  lovely  pair 
Would  wander  with  the  dawn — they  knew  not 

where. 

Forsaking  and  forsaken — ask  not  why 
The  tear-drop  lingered  in  each  youthful  eye. 

Their  sire  approached  ;  a  hale  though  aged  man, 
In  whose  determined  visage  one  might  scan 
A  look  of  firmness,  in  which  deep  intent 
And  pious  resignation  both  were  blent. 
A  man  he  was  whom  force  could  ne'er  subdue  ; 
Who  rendered  worship,  free  and  pure  and  true, 
To  Freedom,  Purity  and  Truth— to  God 
Who  guides  in  mercy  His  avenging  rod. 
He  stood  within  the  cottage  of  the  glade, 
O'er  which  the  maple  threw  its  em'rald  shade, 
And  smiled  upon  his  children.     He  had  braved 
The  storm's  loud  fury  when  it  madly  raved  ; 
The  persecutor's  ire  ;  the  vengeful  cry 
Of  the  red  warrior,  when  he  sought  to  try 
His  prowess  on  the  pale-face.     To  possess 
A  lodgment  in  the  boundless  wilderness, 
Where  God  alone  in  love  and  nature  smiled — 
A  sanctuary  in  the  pathless  wild — 
He  had  resolved  to  leave  his  cottage  home 


THE   FOREST   PILGRIMS.  15 

With  his  two  treasures  farther  still  to  roam. 

"  Fair  ones,"  said  he,  "  fond  children  of  my  love, 
William,  Matilda,  may  the  powers  above 
Direct  our  counsels  and  our  footsteps  guide 
When  far  away  we  wander  side  by  side. 
God  be  our  guiding  star,  our  beacon  light, 
Our  never-failing  refuge  day  and  night, 
And  blessings  will  attend  our  weary  way, 
And  be  our  answers  when  we  humbly  pray. 

All  things  are  ready.     With  the  morning  sun 
Our  westward  journey  must  be  well  begun. 
We  seek  a  home  where  God's  green  mountains 

high 

Uprear  their  crests  to  kiss  the  bending  sky. 
I  sought  this  shore,  one  of  the  Pilgrim  band, 
Who  fled  from  persecution's  iron  hand, 
But  those  who  were  my  brethren  mock  me  now 
With  that  old  taunt — '  I'm  holier  than  thou  !' 
O,  they  forget  the  trials  past ;  the  toil 
Which  made  this  ancient  wilderness  to  smile  ! 
The  sacred  rights  of  conscience  they  arraign  ; 
The  sacred  banner  of  the  Cross  they  stain, 
And  while  from  persecution  they  are  free 
They  learn  to  persecute  both  mine  and  me. 
What  longer  binds  us  here  ?   Freedom  of  thought — 
The  boon  for  which  this  solitude  I  sought— 
No  longer  here  is  found.     The  vasty  deep 
Chants  ceaseless  dirges  where  the  ashes  sleep 
Of  what  was  once  your  mother.    Let  them  swell — 
These  sad  but  holy  tears  !     Yet  bid  farewell, 


16  THE   FOREST   PILGRIMS. 

Without  repining,  to  these  sylvan  scenes  : 
We'll  seek  another  home  where  evergreens 
Hang  their  fair  curtains  round  some  peaceful  spot, 
And  there  in  freedom  will  we  build  our  cot." 

Wild  was  the  fancy  of  that  fearless  man, 
Who  sought  no  counsel,  but  of  God,  to  plan. 
The  way  he  was  to  wander.     In  his  choice 
He  felt  the  promptings  of  "  a  still  small  voice," 
Which  whispered  ever  hope  and  trust  and  cheer, 
And  banished  from  his  soul  all  thoughts  of  fear. 

The  parent-pilgrim,  ere  he  slept  that  night, 
And  ere  he  started  with  the  morrow's  light 
Poured  forth  his  spirit  to  the  Guide  above — 
The  Perfect  Counsellor,  whose  name  is  Love — 
Praying  protection  from  that  Master-hand 
Which  guided  Moses  to  the  promised  land. 

The  first  faint  glimmering  of  morning  sheen, 
Contending  empire  with  night's  calm  serene, 
Broke  in  the  east  to  hail  that  triune  band 
Bending  their  steps  as  to  some  promised  land. 
And  on,  and  on  they  journeyed,  till  all  trace 
Of  bigot-bondage  and  of  Europe's  race 
Was  lost  in  the  deep  forest's  pathless  wild  ; 
But  Nature  triumphed  there,  and  Freedom  smiled, 
And  faith,  with  stronger  pinion,  sought  the  throne 
Of  Him  who  rules  the  universe  alone. 

0  happy  wanderers  !  with  little  blest ! 
Contentment  dwelt  with  them,  a  sacred  guest. 
The  forest  gave  them  sustenance  and  shade 
And  every  eve  a  tent  of  boughs  was  made, 


THE   FOREST   PILGRIMS.  17 

Where,  serenaded  by  the  whip-poor-will, 
In  peace  they  slept.     The  kindled  flame  was  still 
Their  watchful  guardian  from  the  beasts  of  prey, 
Till  with  their  prayers  they  hailed  returning  day. 

Thus  on  they  wandered.     Flow'rets  everywhere 
Adorned  their  pathway  and  perfumed  the  air, 
While  many  a  tuneful  tenant  of  the  grove 
On  painted  pinions,  seemed  with  them  to  rove. 
The  scenes  around  were  fair,  and  wild,  and  bright, 
As  poet's  dream,  tinged  with  elysian  light, 
And  all  was  blended  in  one  blissful  prayer 
To  Him  whose  glory  fills  earth,  sea  and  air. 

At  length,  on  Alleghany's  crest  they  stood — 
A  crest,  by  echoes  haunted,  crowned  with  wood, — 
Just  as  the  sun,  at  close  "of  fairest  day, 
Gilded  that  summit  with  a  golden  ray. 
Matilda  here,  enamored  of  the  scene, 
Gazed  on  the  wide  expanse  of  living  green, 
As  a  new  revelation,  kindly  given 
By  the  great  Architect  of  earth  and  heaven. 
She  saw  beneath  her  vasty  heaps  of  earth, 
Like  giant  children  of  chaotic  birth, 
Nestling  in  fondness,  or  reclined  at  rest, 
Around  that  higher  heap's  maternal  breast. 
She  loved  to  think  upon  their  rock-bound  base, 
Which  God  alone  could  fashion  or  displace  : 
She  loved  the  flowers  which  grew  beneath  the 

trees 

And  gave  their  odors  to  the  wooing  breeze  ; 
She  loved  the  birds'  soft  pean,  when  they  strove 


18  THE    FOREST   PILGRIMS. 

To  still  the  hoarser  echoes  of  the  grove  ; 
She  loved  the  murmur  of  the  mountain  rill, 
Which  all  those  ancient  forest  heights  did  fill 
With  gushing  melody  ;  while  every  pine, 
Through  its  high  boughs,  became  a  harp  divine. 

But  from  that  Pisgah-top  her  worthy  sire 
Looked  on  the  Western  vallies,  to  admire 
Their  wide-spread  promise.     On  and  onward  still, 
Spake  the  firm  voice  of  his  controlling  will  ; 
And  on  and  onward  did  that  band  proceed  : 
All  joyously  determined  ;  they  agreed 
To  brave  the  torrent  and  the  rough  descent : 
Danger  found  courage  :  peace  became  content. 

Far  in  the  vale  advanced,  at  length  they  found 
A  beauteous  tract  of  undulating  ground  ; 
And  there,  on  a  savannah  of  the  wood, 
The  village  of  a  forest-chieftain  stood. 
They  sought  the  hunters  of  the  wild  :  their  Brave 
The  welcome  of  a  kingly  warrior  gave. 
He  bade  them  culture  friendship's  fruitful  tree  ; 
To  smoke  the  calumet  of  peace  :  to  be 
His  honored  guests,  the  children  of  his  care, 
Welcome  as  flow'rs  of  Spring  ;  as  morning,  fair. 

The  elder  pilgrim  bowed,  and  thus  replied  : — 
"  Brother  and  Chief,  thou  seest  by  thy  side 
A  man  who  knows  of  sorrow,  not  of  fears  ; 
Whose  locks  are  whit'ning  with  the  frost  of  years; 
Whose  strength  begins  to  fail  him,  and  whose 

sight 
Is  not  so  piercing  as  in  manhood's  might. 


THE    FOREST    PILGRIMS.  19 

I  am  too  old  for  war.     Time's  tide  must  cease 
Ere  long  for  me  ;  then  let  it  roll  in  peace, 
While  I  upon  the  changeful  stream  am  borne 
To  that  fair  land  which  knows  of  no  return — 
That  happy  home — the  spirit's  hunting-ground — 
Where  ever-bearing  trees  of  life  abound — 
That  lovely  island  where  the  wea*y  rest. 
And  the  Great  Spirit  smiles  upon  the  blest. 
Give  me  a  spot  of  ground  which  shall  be  free  ; 
I'll  rear  a  lodgment  there  for  mine  and  me, 
And  there  we'll  live.     With  corn  I'll  plant  my 

laud, 

And  fondly  nurse  it  with  a  careful  hand, 
And  when  the  Spirit  of  the  Harvest  sends 
Those  yellow  treasures,  which  His  bounty  lends 
To  those  who  till  the  soil,  the  blest  increase 
I'll  share  with  thee  in  thankfulness  and  peace. 
My  boy  amid  your  hunters  shall  be  free 
To  tread  the  forest,  and  to  climb  the  tree  ; 
To  speed  the  arrow  in  its  destined  course, 
With  noble  daring  and  with  manly  force  ; 
To  scorn  the  fetters  of  the  crouching  slave, 
And  speak  amid  the  Councils  of  the  Brave. 
My  girl,  the  tender  flow'ret  of  my  care, 
Must  live  within  my  cabin,  to  prepare 
My  maize  and  venison  ;  to  watcli  my  fire, 
And  cheer  with  songs  her  brother  and  her  sire. 
Your  maidens'  songs,  she  too  shall  learn  to  sing — 
Blithe  as  the  birds  which  carol  in  the  Spring — 
To  welcome  back  the  hunter  from  the  chase, 


20  THE    FOREST   PILGRIMS. 

And  the  young  Brave  who  triumphs  in  the  race. 

Chieftain,  my  words  are  ended  :  wilt  thou  bring- 

To  me  the  shelter  of  thy  eagle  wing, 

When  storms   are  sweeping  through  the  clouds 
above  ; 

And  when  they  pass — the  quiet  of  the  dove  ?" 
"  It  shall  be  as  thou  wilt " — the  Chief  resumed  ; 

And  then  he  called  around  his  warriors  plumed, 

And,  with  a  graceful  movement  of  his  hand, 

He  said  :  "  Go  bound  a  portion  of  my  land 

To  be  to  the  pale  children  of  the  sun 

As  tillage  ground."     He  spoke  and  it  was  done. 
Time   fleetly  passed,     ^sight's  empress  waxed 
and  waned  ; 

Still,  harmony  and  sweet  contentment  reigned 
Between  the  pilgrims  and  their  forest  friends, 
And  every  day  new  proof  of  friendship  lends. 
The  son  and  daughter  of  the  forest  Chief, 
"  Young  Buffalo"  and  the  fair  "  Maple-leaf," 
To  William  and  Matilda  soon  became 
As  children  of  one  father.     Choicest  game 
Young  Buffalo  would  to  Matilda  bring ; 
And  William  unto  Maple-leaf  would  sing- 
The  songs  of  love,  and  read  the  Book  of  Life, 
Whose  words  divine  should  calm  all  earthly  strife. 
The  youthful  chieftain  was  of  stalwart  frame, 
And  Maple-leaf,  a  dusky  nymph,  whose  fame 
Had  circled  far  and  wide.     How  dear,  how  fair, 
The  pale-faced  strangers  to  these  Indians  were  ! 
How  wonderful  the  stories  that  they  told  ! 


THE   FOREST   PILGRIMS.  21 

How  marvellous  a  speech  which  they  behold — 
A  silent  speech  which  to  the  eye  appears, 
And  mocks  the  office  of  the  idle  ears  ! 
But  stranger  still  than  e'en  the  written  word, 
Were  the  great  tidings  which  thus  came,  unheard — 
A  message  from  the  skies.     How  fair  and  bright 
Seemed  Bethlehem's  Star,  which  made  their  dark 
ness  light  ; 

How  grand  and  holy  that  sublime  decree, 
Which  bade  from  wrath  to  come  the  sinner  flee  1 
Wild  superstitions  all  were  cast  away, 
As  an  old  garment,  and  eternal  day 
Beamed  on  their  minds,  till  their  uncultured  lays 
Were  all  translated  into  songs  of  praise. 

And  then  in  turn  the  dusky  converts  told 
Their  wild  traditions  from  the  days  of  old, 
And  the  strange  stories  which  had  filled  their  ears 
Of  pale-faced  nations  who  of  gods  were  peers. 
How  they  had  come  from  a  far,  distant  shore  ; 
How  vast  canoes  these  wondrous  people  bore  ; 
How  in  their  vengeance,  with  a  potent  breath, 
They  bade  the  thunder  do  their  work  of  death  ; 
How,  in  their  realm,  the  sun's  refulgent  crest, 
Waves  o'er  his  sea-bed  in  his  hours  of  rest, 
With  golden  glory  which  affords  delight 
To  warrior-ghosts  that  wander  in  the  night  ; 
How,  in  vast  bubbles,  sailing  through  the  sky, 
They  trace  the  secrets  of  the  stars  on  high  ; 
And  how  wild  beasts,  subdued  at  their  command, 
Whirl  them  in  chariots  o'er  the  solid  land. 


22  THE   FOREST   PILGRIMS. 

At  length  strange  rumors  circled  far  and  near, 
Pointed  and  venomed  by  a  dusky  seer, 
And  all  the  tribe  seemed  brought  to  direst  grief, 
By  the  apostate  children  of  their  Chief. 
A  council  soon  was  called,  when  'twas  decreed 
That  the  pale-fac'd  deceivers  all  should  bleed. 
The  seer  pronounced  their  doom  : 

"  Accursed  be  they, 

Who  would  not  such  ungrateful  demons  slay  ! 
Accurs'd  be  all  who  would  not  tortures  bring — 
The  poison'd  arrow  and  the  serpent's  sting — 
The  burning  fagot  of  the  red  man's  ire, 
Which  leads  to  death  by  slow  consuming  fire. 
Each  pale-face  is  a  fiend !     AVith  serpent  wile, 
He  crawls  and  flatters  only  to  beguile  ; 
He  steals  our  lands,  deceives  us  to  destroy, 
And,  with  fire-water,  brings  infernal  joy, 
Which  maddens  every  sense  and  bows  the  soul 
In  misery  and  shame.     Let  thunders  roll, 
And  the  Great  Spirit  flash  out  from  the  sky, 
Those  flaming  arrows  which  speak  vengeance  nigh! 
No  home  among  us  for  the  pale-faced  band  ! 
No  reptile  race  to  curse  our  noble  land  ! 
The  red-man,  to  be  free,  must  stand  alone, 
And  when  the  white  man  comes,  the  white  man's 

groan 

Must  be  the  red  man's  music.     Let  the  feast 
For  the  wild  vulture  and  the  wilder  beast, 
Be  soon  prepared.     Before  three  days  are  o'er, 
Let  it  be  said  :  '  These  reptiles  are  no  more.'  " 


THE    FOREST   PILGRIMS.  23 

Soon  to  the  ear  of  the  young  Buffalo 
Such  tidings  came  as  'whelmed  his  soul  in  woe. 
He  heard  the  doom  pronounced  against  his  friends; 
But  the  high  courage  which  religion  lends, 
Roused  in  his  soul  the  will  to  do  and  dare  ; 
To  save  his  friends  or  their  worst  dangers  share. 

Night  came — a  night  of  storm.     The  thunder's 

peal 

Seemed  on  the  seer's  decree  to  set  the  seal 
Of  the  Great  Spirit.  Oak  and  stately  ash 
Were  rived  to  splinters  by  the  angry  flash 
Of  Manitau,  the  Just  ;  while  the  cold  rain 
Of  autumn  fell  unpitying  on  the  plain. 

Through  storm  and  darkness,  strong  in  spite  of 

grief, 

Young  Buffalo  and  the  fond  Maple-leaf, 
With  stealthy  steps  the  pilgrim's  cabin  sought, 
And  cried — "  Escape !  we  too,  will  share  your  lot." 

And  hurried  preparation  soon  was  made  ; 
A  solemn  prayer  was  uttered  ;  and,  afraid 
Of  none  but  God,  that  persecuted  band 
Went  forth  and  left  no  sign.     With  God's  right 

hand 

For  shield  and  guide,  their  faith  became  sublime, 
And  persecution  seemed  earth's  foulest  crime. 
The  rain,  and  leaves  strewn  by  the  angry  blast, 
Washed  out,   or  hid  all  trace   of  where   they 

passed  ; 

And  when  the  morning  came,  so  fair  and  bright, 
How  such  a  day  should  follow  such  a  night 


24  TOE    FOREST   PILGRIMS. 

Was  theme  of  special  wonder.     Earth  and  sky, 

Bathed  in  the  smile  of  Him  who  rules  on  high, 

Seemed  filled  with  peace  and  promise.    As  a  sign 

It  was  accepted  from  the  Power  divine, 

That  the  poor  pilgrims  should  be  onward  led 

As  Israel's  children,  when  with  manna  fed. 

The  autumn's  frosts  with  curious  chemic  skill, 

Had  tinted  every  leaf  on  vale  and  hill, 

Till  all  the  forest  seemed  one  fairy  scene 

Of  gold  and  crimson,  motley  brown  and  green. 

On  ripened  nuts  the  playful  squir'l  regaled  ; 

High  in  the  air  the  lordly  eagle  sailed  ; 

And  mocking  birds,  with  sweet,  melodious  tongue, 

Filled  all  the  grove  with  their  orchestral  song. 

With  grateful  hearts  the  pilgrims  onward  sped; 
A  leafy  carpet  'neath  their  feet  was  spread  ; 
And  with  one  voice  all  nature  seemed  to  bless 
That  lonely  journey  through  the  wilderness. 
A  common  danger,  which  alike  they  shared  ; 
A  common  board,  at  which  alike  they  fared  ; 
A  common  faith  and  trust,  and  that  great  love 
Which  binds  on  earth  as  in  the  realms  above, 
Filled  them  with  perfect  joy.     Each  day  they  grew 
Nearer  and  dearer.     Old,  yet  ever  new, 
The  story  of  young  hearts  and  young  desires 
Found  fresh  solution  in  those  holy  fires 
Which  stir  the  pulse  to  fond  affection's  glow, 
And  make  man's  world  of  happiness  below. 

After  three  days  of  weary  inarch  thy  came 
Unto  the  lodge  of  Sacato,  whose  fame, 


TPIE    FOREST   PILGRIMS.  25 

As  a  great  Sachem,  spread  through  all  the  land  ; 
His  arm  was  strength  :  blood  flowed  at  his  com 
mand. 
Young  Buffalo  thus  spoke  : 

"  Great  Chief,  attend  :— 
We  seek  in  thee  protector,  father,  friend. 
A  brave  am  I.     This,  my  good  sister,  here, 
And  these  fair  strangers  in  thy  realm  appear 
To  claim  thy  kind  and  hospitable  care  : 
Attend,  great  Chief,  to  our  united  prayer. 
Brothers  have  proved  unkind  :  We  seek  in  you 
A  more  than  brother — friend  and  father  too." 
Then  the  great  Sachem  thus  : 

11  My  heart  is  warm  ; 

My  arms  are  open.     Fear  no  vengeful  storm. 
Thyself  and  friends  are  safe.     Sacato's  word 
Hath  said  it.     When  was  e'er  Sacato  heard 
To  say  what  was  not  so  ?     Make  this  your  home: 
Be  kindred  with  my  people.     If  you  roam, 
Come  back  again.     Who  dares  to  do  you  harm 
Shall  feel  the  force  and  vengeance  of  my  arm." 

A  wigwam  for  the  strangers  was  prepared, 
And  hospitality  no  token  spared, 
Of  kind  and  princely  welcome.     Ne'er  had  heav'n 
Such  cause  of  thankfulness  to  pilgrims  given, 
And  ne'er  did  pilgrim  band  their  souls  pour  out 
In  prayer  more  humble,  grateful,  and  devout. 
That  "  perfect  love,"  which  casteth  out  all  fear, 
Filled  their  true  souls  with  its  celestial  cheer, 
Till  one  in  purpose,  one  in  faith,  they  lent 


26  THE    FOREST   PILGRIMS. 

Each  to  the  other  comfort  and  content. 

Two  months  passed  fleetly  by.     'Twas  Christ 
mas  night. 

The  stars  looked  down  with  a  fond,  loving  light, 
And  that  same  astral  gem,  whose  guiding  ray, 
The  wise  men  led  to  "where  the  young  child  lay," 
Held  high  his  course  in  heaven.      The   pilgrim 

priest 

Had  in  his  tent  prepared  a  marriage  feast. 
A  loving  daughter  and  a  loving  son 
Were,  with  his  blessing,  to  be  joined  as  one, 
To  those  they  dearly  loved — those  forest  friends, 
Whose  faith  had  proved  so  true.     Two   brides 

there  were, 

Each,  in  her  way,  superlatively  fair  ; 
Like  the  wise  virgins,  each  with  oil  supplied, 
To  greet  the  master's  coming.     Side  by  side 
They  stood  with  those  they  loved,  and  with  one 

breath 
Vowed  to  be  "  faithful  even  unto  death." 

Ah  I  who  can  tell  how  soon  o'er  scenes  most 

bright 

Shadows  may  fall  with  gloom  of  darkest  night — 
How  soon  the  purest,  faithfulest,  and  best 
May  press  the  sod  and  with  the  weary  rest  ! 
God's   ways,    "past   finding   out,"   no   man   can 

know  : 

The  foeman's  wrath  and  the  assassin's  blow 
May  yield  him  praise,  and  kindest  mercy  prove  : 
Great  are  his  judgments — greater  still  his  love  ! 


THE    FOREST   PILGRIMS.  27 

The  Christmas  watch  was  kept  ;  the  midnight 

prayer 

Went  up  to  God,  and  his  paternal  care 
Was  asked  for  Christ's  sake,  on  the  joined  lives 
Of  those  fond  husbands  and  those  loving  wives. 
But  hark — a  rush — a  yell — the  knife — the  brand — 
Wielded  by  many  a  fierce  and  dusky  hand, 
Brought  sudden  death  where,  late,  fond  life  and 

peace 

Nursed  brightest  hopes,  and  looked  for  joy's  in 
crease. 

That  fearful  scene  of  blood  'neath  fury's  sway, 
Nor  tongue,  nor  pen,  nor  pencil  can  portray. 
Brief  was  the  struggle.     Wounded,  scalped  and 

bound ; 

Their  eyes  plucked  out  and  cast  upon  the  ground  ; 
Their  bodies  mutilated  ;  burning  darts 
Fixed  deep   within   their   flesh.      Still  in  their 

hearts 
These   Christians    called   on    God,    as   did    the 

Son! 
"  Forgive    them,   Father  :    Thy  great    will    be 

done  !" 
At  length    to  spear  and  flame  their  bodies 

yield ; 

The  book  of  their  sad  martyrdom  is  sealed ; 
And  to  eternal  mansions  in  the  skies, 
From  earthly  hate,  their  pilgrim  spirits  rise. 
Swift  as  the  eagle's  flight  the  direful  blow 
Fell  on  the  Christian  hamlet,  to  o'erthrow 


28  THE   FOREST   PILGRIMS, 

The  fondest  hopes  e'er  nursed.     But  Vengeance 

stood — 

The  Nemesis  of  that  wild,  ancient  wood — 
With  shafts  already  barb'd.     In  God's  fixed  hour 
E'en  human  wrath  must  vindicate  His  power. 
Deep  in  the  soil  appeared  a  crimson  stain, 
And  martyr-blood  ne'er  cried  to  heaven  in  vain  1 
The  dusky  triumph — the  surprise  by  night — 
May  turn  to  mourning  with  the  morrow's  light, 
When  the  red  foeman  the  wild  war-path  seeks, 
And  a  rude  anger  under  honor  speaks  I 

Whose   was   the   deed  ?     The   act   itself  pro 
claimed 

Its  superstitious  authors,  and  defamed 
The  very  name  of  Brave.     Fanatic  ire 
Alone  such  deeds  of  darkness  could  inspire  ! 
When  first  the  pilgrims  fled,  pursuit  had  failed  ; 
Then  the  stern  Seer  against  his  warriors  railed 
Because  with  girdles  scalpless  they  returned. 
He  mocked  them  ;  called  them  women  ;  told  how 

burned 

The  old  Chiefs  ire,  for  children  led  astray 
By  pale-faced  sorcery.    Then:  "  I'll  lead  the  way, 
And  woe  to  all  who  fail  1"     A  trusty  band 
With  that  fierce  Seer  to  counsel  and  command, 
Again  took  up  the  trail.     A  serpent's  eyes, 
When  fixed  in  evil  on  some  charmed  prize, 
Were,  than  the  Seer's,  less  keen.     The  serpent's 

guile 
Could  never  equal  his,  and  in  his  smile 


THE    FOREST   PILGRIMS.  29 

There  was  a  demon's  power,  a  demon's  pride, 
That  in  self-confidence  and  hate  relied. 
With  cunning  and  with  patience  he  pursued 
The  cruel  war-path  through  the  peaceful  wood, 
Until,  at  length,  his  murderous  success 
Gave  Christian  martyrs  to  the  wilderness. 
When  to  the  ears  of  proud  Sacato  came 
The  tidings  of  the  massacre,  a  flame 
Of  anger  burned  within  him,  and  a  vow 
He  registered  to  the  Great  Spirit :  "  Now, 
Be  this,  my  right  arm,  withered  ;  be  my  heart 
Torn  from  my  bosom ;  let  my  spirit  start, 
Dishonored  to  some  hunting-ground  of  shame, 
Where  mocking  fiends  may  scoff  Sacato's  name, 
If  swift  extermination  shall  not  fall 
On  the  accursed  tribe.     I  sentence  all 
To  die  the  death  of  dogs." 

Three  thousand  men 

Sprang  at  Sacato's  word  from  hill  and  glen, 
And  at  the  war-dance,  by  the  bended  bow, 
And    battle    hatchet,    swore    that    they   would 

show 

No  mercy  to  those  wild  wolves  of  the  wood, 
Who  roused  their  hate  by  such  a  deed  of  blood. 
The  war  commenced  ;  fierce  as  Sacato's  wrath, 
Destruction  followed  the  avenger's  path, 
Till  the  gorged  raven  and  the  vulture  turned 
With  loathing  from  the  bloody  feast,  and  spurned 
The  proffered  carnage.     Age  nor  sex  was  spared. 
Infant  and  mother  ;  sire  and  maiden,  shared, 


30  THE    FOREST   PILGRIMS. 

With  dusky  braves,  the  death   which  bow  and 

spear, 

And  fiery  torture  gave  to  war's  career. 
But  Chief  the  Seer— Wild  Serpent  called— who 

planned 

The  murder  of  the  pilgrims,  and  whose  hand 
Was  reddest  with  their  blood,  felt  the  full  flow 
Of  uncurbed  vengeance.     Tortures  sure  but  slow, 
With  every  pang  that  savage  nerves  can  feel, 
Fed  on  his  flesh  and  gnawed  his  heart  of  steel. 
Bound  to  a  tree  ;  a  thousand  spears  of  pine, 
Ranged  in  fantastic  figures,  line  o'er  line, 
Were  thrust  into  his  body.     Flame  applied, 
They  blazed  in  pitchy  fatness,  till  they  fried 
The  living  victim,  so  he  writhed  again 
With  all  the  stings  of  concentrated  pain. 
Thus  lingeringly  he  lived  for  many  an  hour, 
Until,  at  length,  e'en  torture  lost  its  power, 
And  then  he  died — last  of  a  fallen  race — 
With  stern  defiance  branded  on  his  face  ! 


THE    LAMENT.  31 


THE    LAMENT. 

[The  following  lines  were  suggested  by  the  story  of  a 
somewhat  aged  wanderer  whom  the  author  met  in  a  crowd 
ed  city  of  the  old  world.  Sorrow  more  than  disease  had 
left  its  traces  on  his  cheek,  and  its  palsy  on  his  limbs,  and 
it  is  presumed  that  long  ere  this  he  has  passed  to  the  object 
of  his  love  in  the  spirit-land.]  ^ 

MY  soul  is  lone, 

As  stepping  o'er  the  stumbling  blocks  of  Time, 
And  seeking  happiness  in  many  a  clime, 

I  tread  unknown, 

'Mid  granite  solitudes  and  marble  piles, 
Where  Poverty  laments  and  Plenty  smiles. 

Oh  !  there  is  pain 

In  that  sad  sense  of  loneliness,  which  steals 
O'er  the  too  conscious  spirit,  and  reveals 

The  severed  chain 

Of  Friendship,  which  in  other  days  was  bright 
As  Hope's  young  buds  were  bursting  into  light ! 

But  distant  far, 

All  sunny  hours  and  early  friends  are  now  ; 
For  care  has  traced  deep  furrows  on  my  brow  ; 

And  many  a  scar, 


32  THE    LAMENT. 

The  fadeless  record  of  the  foeman's  strife, 
Has  made  deformity  my  lot  through  life, 

In  early  years, 
When  wealth  embraced  me,  and  when  life's  warm 

gush 
Went  bounding  onward  with  a  joyous  rush, 

I  nursed  no  fears 

Foreshadowing  a  future,  such  as  mine, 
With  care  and  grief  recorded  in  each  line, 

I  then  did  love, 

And  loving,  was  beloved  ;  but  ah  !  how  soon 
Death  snatched  my  floweret  in  her  spring's  bright 
noon  ! 

Now,  far  above, 

Her  spirit  blooms  in  ether  realms  again, 
While  mine  droops  here  in  penury  and  pain. 

Oh  !  how  I  wept 

When  she,  the  bright — the  beautiful — the  first, 
For  whom  my  soul's  deep  treasur'd  love  was  nurst, 

Faded  and  slept ! 

And  when  the  narrow  house  closed  o'er  her  form, 
I  felt  a  calm  more  dreadful  than  the  storm.. 

But  soon  I  left 

The  dwelling  of  my  fathers,  and  the  home 
Where,  with  my  sweetest,  I  no  more  could  roam  : 

Of  all  bereft, 


THE   LAMENT.  33 

Save  the  sad  recollections  of  a  scene 

Which  could  to  me  no  more  be  clothed  in  green. 

i.  sped  away, — 

And  where  the  tocsin  and  the  drum  were  heard  ; 
And  where  fame's  clarion  the  spirit  stirred, 

I  sought  to  stay 

The  current  of  remembrance,  and  to  blot 
Her  cherished  image  from  my  soul's  sad  thought. 

But  ah  !  no  drop 
From  Lethean  springs  would  check  my  wasting 

sigh, 
Nor,  till  the  fountains  of  my  tears  were  dry 

Would  they  e'er  stop 

Their  sad  outpourings  :  and  the  midnight  gale 
Was  oft  wild  witness  of  my  mournful  wail. 


I  courted  death — 

Defied  the  fleshless  monster — and  would  clasp 
The  pike  and  halbert  with  a  phrensied  grasp, 

But  still  my  breath 

Lingered  within  my  nostrils  : — none  would  try 
The  fatal  steel  on  one  who  fought — to  die  I 

I  left  the  field, 

Sad,  broken  down  in  body  as  in  mind, 
Seeking  relief  ;  but  still,  I  failed  to  find 

Aught  which  could  yield 


34  THE    LAMENT, 

The  balm  of  quiet  to  my  troubled  soul, 

Which,  like  the  ocean,  heaves  with  ceaseless  roll. 

Fve  sought  for  peace 
In  distant  lands  and  gay  exotic  climes  ; 
And  revelry  I've  witnessed,  sports,  and  crimes, — 

But  no  release 

Would  my  heart's  jailor  furnish.     All  as  yet 
Have  failed  to  teach  my  spirit  to  forget. 

On  life's  dark  verge 

I  stand  in  sadness,  as  in  manhood's  might, 
When  Hope's  bright  star  first  sank  in  sorrow's 
night. 

The  ceaseless  surge 
Which  speaks  Eternity  but  whispers  peace, 

For  in  it  all  our  earthly  sorrows  cease. 

• 

Welcome  the  day 

When  my  o'erburdened  spirit  shall  be  free 
From  all  the  pains  of  earth-born  misery  ! 

When,  far  away, 

I'll  meet  my  life-lamented  love  on  high, 
To  bid  me  welcome  to  Love's  purer  sky  ! 


THE    SONG   OF   COMMERCE.  35 


THE  SONG  OF  COMMERCE. 

I  WAS  born  in  the  East,  amid  myrtle  groves, 
Where  flowerets  forever  bloom  ; 
I  was  fanned  by  the  breeze  which  in  fragrance 

roves 

O'er  the  gardens  of  Gul's  perfume  ; 
And  mine  were  the  gold  and  the  jewels,  bright, 

Which  were  reared  by  a  kingly  hand, 
As.the  joy  and  the  pride  of  a  people's  might, 
In  the  Temple  of  Judah's  land. 

And  mine  were  the  cedars  which  waved  on  high, 

And  mine  were  the  ships  of  Tyre, 
And  mine  were  the  breeze,  which  swept  softly  by, 

And  the  gale,  which  was  loud  in  ire. 
The  costly  ores  from  a  thousand  mines 

Were  raised  by  my  vassal  train, 
And  the  stately  oaks  and  the  mountain  pines, 

For  me,  sought  the  distant  main. 

With  the  "  staff  of  life  "  in  my  jewel'd  hand, 

I  have  traced  the  majestic  Nile — 
I  have  stood  where  the  Pyramid-mountains  stand, 

And  where  Babel  was  wont  to  smile  ; 


36  THE    SONG   OF    COMMERCE. 

I  have  passed  o'er  the  lovely  isles  of  Greece — 

I  have  dwelt  in  imperial  Kome  ; 
Aiid  Carthage  was  mine,  in  her  hours  of  peace, 

And  in  Venice  I've  sought  a  home. 

I've  lingered  in  Holland,  and  in  my  smile, 

Her  fleets  have  sought  every  sea  ; 
I've  circled  around  Albion's  sea-girt  isle, 

Then  hied  to  "  the  land  of  the  free  ;" 
And  my  standard  now  waves  on  Columbia's  shore, 

Where  the  earth,  from  her  teeming  breast, 
Hath  gathered  for  me  an  unbounded  store, 

On  the  plains  of  the  "giant  West." 

Lakes,  rivers,  and  "  wooden  walls"  are  mine, 

And  those,  who  on  Polar  seas, 
Seek  treasures  which  I  to  the  brave  resign, 

Where  the  glittering  icebergs  freeze. 
The  world  is  mine,  and  my  smile  shall  dwell 

With  the  peaceful  of  every  land  ; 
The  coffers  I'll  store,  and  the  garners  swell, 

Which  the  fearless  and  free  have  planned. 

Then,  hurra  !  hurra  !  for  my  fleets  of  pride — 

For  my  cities,  a  loud  hurra  ! 
I  traverse  the  earth  and  the  ocean  wide, 

And  naught  shall  impede  my  way. 
The  beautiful  East  and  the  boundless  West, 

The  chill  and  the  burning  clime, 
Shall  for  aye  rejoice  in  my  high  behest, 

Through  the  cycles  of  future  time. 


THE  MOTHER'S  LYRIC.  31 


THE    MOTHER'S    LYRIC. 


THREE   there   were,  my  boys,  my  trea 
sures  ! 

Wai  lie  first,  my  eldest  born, 
Like  a  dream  of  angel  pleasures, 

Heralding  eternal  morn  : 
Gone  to  prove  the  soul's  evangel, 
Now  a  child,  and  now — an  angel  ! 
Change  of  being,  gentle,  blissful, 
'Twas  when  little  Wallie  died. 


Georgie  next,  a  laughing  flower, 
Early  blooming  for  the  sky  ; 

Seeming,  by  some  mystic  power, 
Linked  to  fairer  lands  on  high  : 

Proving  still  the  soul's  evangel, 

Now  a  child,  and  now — an  angel  ! 

Change  of  being,  gentle,  blissful, 
'Twas  when  little  Georgie  died. 

Then  came  Willie,  latest,  fleetest 
Faded  he  from  earth  away  ; 

Fading  thus,  he  seemed  the  sweetest 
Flow'r  that  ever  knew  decay  : 


38  THE  MOTHER'S  LYRIC. 

Still  lie  proved  the  soul's  evangel, 
Now  a  child,  and  now — an  angel  ! 
Change  of  being,  gentle,  blissful, 
'Twas  when  little  Willie  died. 

NEVT  ORLEANS,  1856. 


TO   MOOSEHEAD   LAKE.  39 


TO    MOOSEHEAD    LAKE.* 

FAIR  lake  of  the  mountains,  whose  bright 
waters  seem 

To  flow  on  in  bliss  like  a  beautiful  dream  ; 
Now  laving  in  gladness  the  hundreds  of  isles 
Which  gem  thy  broad  surface  and  joy  in  thy 

smiles ; 

To  zephyr's  soft  music  now  dancing  in  pride, 
As  the  hunter's  light  shallop  the  blue  waves  di 
vide, 

Or  spreading  in  silver  to  mirror  the  skies, 
And  the  forest-crowned  mountains  which  round 
thee  arise. 

Fair  lake  of  the  mountains,  proud  Kineo's  brow 
For  ages  has  frowned  far  above  thee  as  now  : 
When  the  neighboring  highlands,  now  sylvan  and 

tame, 
O'erflowed  at  their  summits  with  lava  and  flame, 

*  Written  during  a  visit  to  Maine  in  1854. 

It  fe  said  that  the  Indians  used  in  "the  olden  time"  to 
sacrifice  their  victims  by  throwing  them  over  the  perpen 
dicular  cliffs  of  Mount  Kineo. 


40  TO    MOOSEHEAD    LAKE. 

And  the  Indian  chieftains  on  Kineo  met, 
To  pay  to  the  war-god  their  terrible  debt ; 
Thy  waters  were  witness  ;  and  deep  in  thy  caves 
Are  gathered  the  bones  of  the  sacrificed  "  braves." 

Fair  lake  of  the  mountains,  romantic  and  wild 
Are  the   scenes  which  in  grandeur  around  thee 

have  smiled, 

Since  poured  forth  in  brightness  from  Deity's  hand, 
Thou  hast  looked  on  the  charms  of  this  mountain 
ous  land. 

In  sunshine,  in  shadow,  in  calm  and  in  storm, 
Thou  hast  varying  beauties  no  change  can  deform; 
And  thy  sons  and  thy  daughters,  may  they  ever  be 
As  fair  as  thy  waters,  as  pure  and  as  free  ! 


INNOCENCE.  41 


INNOCENCE. 

TO    . 

HOUGH  fair  were  the  earliest  bowers  of 
JL      love, 

With  their  beautiful  blossoms  of  every  hue, 
Though  pure  was  the  incense  of  Eden's  grove, 

Which  on  zephyr-pinions  in  fragrance  flew, — 
Yet  fairer  and  purer,  and  sweeter  still, 
Than  Eden's  flow'rs  or  fragrant  air, 
Was  the  guileless  charm- find  the  vestal  will, 
Which  Innocence  gave  unto  all  things  there. 

But  the  serpent  came,  and  the  charm  was  lost, 

And  briars  and  thorns  in  the  garden  grew, 
And  Innocence,  frighted  and  tempest-tost, 

For  a  place  of  rest  o'er  the  waters  flew. 
Like  an  angel-spirit  too  pure  for  earth, 

It  sometimes  wandered  from  star  to  star, 
But  it  still  would  sigh  for  its  place  of  birth — 

For  its  native  Eden,  afar,  afar  ! 

And  then  it  would  seek  in  some  spicy  grove, 
A  spot  where  the  daisies  had  blushed  unseen, 

Where  it  could,  mid  the  flowers  in  freedom  rove, 
And  the  children  of  Flora  could  hail  it  queen. 


42  INNOCENCE. 

Still,  still  for  a  temple  more  purely  bright, 
As  a  wandering  Peri  again  'twould  roam, 

And  it  ne'er  found  that  temple  of  love  and  light, 
'Till  it  found  iu  thy  breast  an  abiding  home. 


THE    LEGEND    OF    BELLE    ISLE.  43 


THE   LEGEND   OF   RELLE   ISLE. 

AMONG-  the  many  places  in  Newfoundland 
remarkable  for  their  romantic  sublimity, 
Belle  Isle,  in  Conception  Bay,  is  especially  in 
teresting.  The  rocks  on  the  eastern  end  of  the 
island  are  most  beautifully  fluted  out  by  the 
hammerless  masonry  of  the  ever-working  waves, 
and  towering  up  some  hundreds  of  feet  into  the 
air,  they  present  no  imperfect  imitation  of  the 
sublimest  specimens  of  architectural  grandeur. 
Standing  on  two  promontory  projections  of  the 
overhanging  cliff,  may  be  seen  a  male  and  a  female 
figure,  perfect  in  shape,  as  if  cut  out  of  the  solid 
rock  by  the  delicate  hand  of  the  sculptor.  But 
there  the  artist  never  stood — the  shelving  rock 
would  mock  at  his  attempt  to  scale  it,  and  the 
sublime  proportions  of  the  statues  could  never  be 
copied  by  his  hand.  Thus  it  is  that  the  freaks  of 
Nature  are  more  wonderful  at  times  than  the 
proudest  triumphs  of  Art. 

A  traditionary  legend  speaks  of  these  figures 
as  being  the  tutelar  angels  of  the  Isle,  and  once  its 
sole  inhabitants.  The  place  was  then  a  very 
paradise  of  delight,  and  so  enraptured  were  they 


44  THE    LEGEND    OF    BELLE    ISLE. 

with  its  beauties  that  they  fixed  a  bell  on  the  end 
of  it  which  fronts  the  setting  sun,  which  would 
ring  a  peal,  melodiously  enchanting  at  morn,  at 
mid-day,  and  at  the  approach  of  night;  but 
whenever  wandering  spirits  agitated  the  air  or  the 
surrounding  waters  by  their  motions,  it  gave  a 
tone  so  wild,  discordant,  and  frightful  as  to  urge 
the  intruders  hastily  from  the  loved  domain.  This 
bell,  with  its  clapper,  may  still  be  seen  near  the 
site  it  originally  occupied  ;  but  an  invisible  guar 
dian  protects  them  from  the  polluted  tread  and 
scrutinizing  examination  of  man. 

In  course  of  time,  tradition  proceeds  to  say, 
its  inhabitants  made  wings  to  take  their  loved 
island  to  the  land  of  the  gods.  The  gods,  infu 
riate  at  their  presumption,  about  the  midnight 
that  ushered  in  May-morning  of  the  year,  sent  a 
sword  of  fiery  flame  which  clipped  the  monster 
wings  just  trembling  on  the  eve  of  motion,  and 
drove  the  aspiring  angels  over  the  island's  eastern 
brow.  The  rocks  on  that  portion  of  the  island 
being  enchanted,  were  no  sooner  touched  by  the 
falling  victims  of  ambition  than  the  once  happy 
pair  were  converted  into  marble,  as  solid  as  the 
rock  against  which  they  clung.  And  there  they 
have  ever  since  been  ;  and  on  every  annual  return 
of  the  hour  that  they  fell,  the  echoes  of  the  Isle 
are  awakened  by  a  strain  of  music  from  each, — 
the  only  vestiges  they  retain  of  their  once  heav 
enly  powers. 


THE  LEGEND  OF   BELLE  ISLE.  45 

The  male  sings  thus  : 

I  HAVE  roamed,  I  have  roamed,  as  the  lord  of  the 

Isle, 

And  alone  I  have  lived  in  my  loved  one's  smile  ; 
I  have  braved,  I  have  braved  the  celestial  ire, 
And  the  sword  that  was  edged  with  electric  fire  ; 
And  my  yearly  song,  from  the  marble  steep 
I  sing,  when  the  ocean  is  lulled  to  sleep. 
Still,  still  its  burden  my  loved  one's  smile, 
And  the  verdant  plains  of  my  beautiful  Isle, 

On  my  wave-washed  cliff  I  have  stood,  I  have 

stood, 

Since  the  deluge  rolled  its  resistless  flood  :— 
A  thousand  nations  have  passed  away 
Since  the  echoes  awoke  to  my  yearly  lay  :— 
The  gods  of  the  ocean  in  worship  meet 
In  the  billowy  waters  beneath  my  feet, 
But  they're  naught  when  compared  with  my  lov'd 

one's  smile 
And  the  Eden  plains  of  my  beautiful  Isle. 

The  female  sings  thus  : 

Awake,  O  awake  !  to  my  midnight  song  : 
The  maiden  who  lists  will  live  happy  and  long. 
And  the  youth  who  attends  to  my  yearly  lay, 
With  the  roses  of  pleasure  I'll  scatter  his  way. 


46  THE   LEGEND    OF   BELLE    ISLE. 

I  have  lived  in  my  Isle  when  unending  spring 
Would  its  scented  flow'rets  around  me  fling  ; 
And  I've  revelled  in  bliss,  while  my  loved  one's 

smile 
Still  hailed  me  queen  of  my  beautiful  Isle. 

The  sportive  mermaids  around  me  play  ! 
And  the  ocean-nymphs  with  enchanting  lay 
Stil  cheer  me  onward  from  year  to  year, 
With  the  echoing  song  which  to  me  is  dear  ; 
And  dear  are  the  strains  of  celestial  bands, 
And  the  myriad  songs  of  Elysian  lands, 
But  dearer  by  far  is  my  loved  one's  smile, 
And  the 'Eden  plains  of  my  beautiful  Isle. 


THE  WIND-GOD'S  SONG.  4t 


THE  WIND-GOD'S  SONG. 

IN  my  car  of  clouds,  through  the  "upper  deep," 
I  sweep  o'er  the  trembling  sea  ; 
And  the  billowy  surges,  aroused  from  sleep, 
Keep  time  to  my  minstrelsy. 

A  thousand  ships  from  a  thousand  climes 

Await  my  uncertain  breath, 
Where,  freighted  with  treasures,  and  hopes,  and 
crimes, 

They  would  steer  by  the  shoals  of  death  : 

But  my  ire,  aroused  by  the  vassal  train, 

I  give,  to  the  tempest,  birth, 
And  I  laugh,  in  my  might,  at  the  sons  of  pain 

As  they  sigh  for  the  solid  earth. 

The  cry  of  sorrow  aloud  is  heard  ! 

The  shriek,  and  the  dying  wail — 
The  ships  have  sunk  ! — the  waves  are  stirr'd 

In  the  dance,  to  the  midnight  gale. 


48  THE  WIXD-GOD'S  SOXG. 

Now  I  breathe  a  calm  o'er  the  "  yeast  of  waves," 

And  the  watery  warrings  cease  ; 
And  deep,  in  the  mermaid's  ocean  caves, 

The  mariner  sleeps  in  peace. 

And  afar, 'afar,  o'er  the  desert  land 

I  pass  in  my  fleecy  car  ; 
And  the  pestilence  bows  to  my  high  command, 

And  the  Siroc  is  sent  afar. 

And  now  I  come  with  the  sweets  of  spring, 
And  the  leaf  and  the  flow'ret's  bloom 

Break  forth,  in  the  warmth  of  my  zephyr-wing 
From  the  chill  of  their  wintry  tomb. 

And  now,  again,  through  the  summer  air, 

I  breathe  on  the  fevered  brow  ; 
And  a  joyous  welcome  awaits  me  where 

The  faint  and  the  feeble  bow. 

And  now,  to  the  bowers  of  love  I  hie, 

And  I  bend  unto  lips  of  bliss, 
(From  my  viewless  home  in  the  changeful  sky), 

"Which  an  angel  might  stoop  to  kiss. 

And  I  pass  o'er  the  fields  of  ripening  corn, 

The  children  of  toil  to  cheer  ; 
And  in  joy,  at  the  fullness  of  Plenty's  horn, 

I  speed  in  my  wild  career. 


A  MOTHER'S  QUESTIONINGS.  49 


A  MOTHER'S  QUESTIONINGS. 

~YTT~HERE  art  thou  gone,  my  Henry  ? 

V  V        0,  I  could  not  think  that  thou 
Wouldst  leave  us,  as  Ihe  sunlight  leaves, 

At  eve,  the  mountain's  brow. 
Thy  presence  was  a  constant  joy — 

A  ray  of  life  and  light — 
And  now  thou'rt  gone,  the  world  seems  filled 

With  Absence  and  with  Night  ! 

Go  ask  the  wailing  waters, 

Gentle  mother,  they  can  tell  ; 
There's  speech  within  their  darkened  flow, 

To  thee,  perchance  a  knell  ! 
Amid  their  coral  colonnades 

His  form  was  gently  laid, 
And  well  he  sleeps,  as  if  his  couch 

By  loving  hands  were  made. 

I've  spoken  to  the  waters, 

But  they  rolled  along  in  pride, 
All  heedless  of  my  questionings, 

And  not  a  wave  replied — 


50  A  MOTHER'S  QUESTIONINGS. 

Save  in  sad,  hollow  murmur-tones 
Which  seemed  like  echoes  dread, 

Of  lov'd  ones  lost,  forever  lost, 
Till  seas  gave  up  their  dead. 

Then  question  thou  the  heavens, 

And  the  radiant  orbs,  which  sweep 
In  music  and  in  brilliancy 

Through  the  celestial  deep. 
The  sea  but  holds  the  casket,  frail — 

The  sky  has  claimed  the  gem, 
And  now  it  sparkles  in  the  light 

Of  God's  own  diadem. 

0  come  to  me,  my  Henry, 

Come  in  thy  angelic  guise, 
And  to  my  earthly  questionings 

Give  heavenly  replies. 
It  is  his  voice — I  know  it  well — 

It  comes  to  bless  and  cheer — 
My  Henry  lives  the  better  life  : 

Farewell  to  grief  and  fear  ! 

NEW  ORLEANS,  October,  1856. 


The  above  lines  were  written  by  request,  on  the  death  of 
a  pupil  in  the  New  Orleans  Public  .Schools,  who  was  acci 
dentally  knocked  overboard  from  a  vessel,  and  drowned  in 
the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 


TO    THE    MAGNOLIA.  51 


TO  THE  MAGNOLIA. 

GEM  of  the  forest,  delicately  bright, 
Spotless  and  pure  as  Eden's  fairest  flower  ; 
That  comest  with  thy  treasures  to  delight 
The  fairy  halls  of  Love's  encircling  bower. 

o 

In  the  gay  world,  methinks,  I've  heard  it  said, 
That  there  were  mysteries  of  Floral  lore, 

Recorded  on  fair  flow'ret-leaves  which,  read. 
By  ardent  lovers,  caused  them  to  adore. 


And  oft  have  I,  with  wrapt  attention,  sought 
For  the  full  knowledge  of  each  gentle  page 

Which  warms   the  soul  with   joyousness    when 

taught, 
And  gives  a  higher  wisdom  to  the  sage. 

And  thou,  sweet  forest  flow'r,  hast  always  seemed 
The  best  translatress  of  Affection's  sigh  ; 

For  warmth,  and  truth,  and  purity  have  beamed 
From  the  warm  sun  which  lights  thy  native  sky. 


52  TO   THE    MAGNOLIA. 

Canst  thou  "  translate  the  poetry  of  hearts  ?" 
0  I  whisper,  then,  the  story  of  my  flame — 

The  dream  of  bliss  its  silent  thought  imparts 
Its  soft  devotion  to  one  cherished  name. 

And  I  will  bless  thee  for  the  kindly  deed, 
And  own  thy  balmy  breath  and  gentle  swell 

All  musical  and  eloquent,  to  plead 

The  deep  emotions  words  can  never  tell. 


HOPE A    FRAGMENT.  53 


HOPE— A  FRAGMENT. 

9~TV  /TID  the  glittering  gems,  so  profusely  strewed, 
_1\JL  O'er  the  boundless  wilds  of  Infinitude, 
One  star,  of  a  lovelier,  purer  sheen 
Than  its  sister  lights  could  boast,  was  seen  : 
But  a  cloud  appeared  ;  and  I  looked  with  pain 
On  the  shrouding  gloom  of  its  sable  train, 
As  that  chosen  star  with  the  silv'ry  ray 
In  its  deep  embrace  seemed  to  fade  away. 
All  sadly  I  looked  ;  and  a  darkening  shade 
O'er  my  world  of  thought  like  a  demon  strayed, 
For  the  choir  which  shouted  Creation's  hymn 
In  that  partial  blackness  had  all  grown  dim. 
But  now,  through  the  silence  of  gloom  was  heard 
The  reviving  tone  of  a  whispered  word — 
'Tvvas  Hope — and  then,  dropping  a  grateful  tear, 

I  knew  that  my  star  would  again  appear. 
«  #  *  *  *  * 

'Mid  the  flowers  that  smiled  in  a  garden  dell, 
And  honeyed  the  dews  as  they  softly  fell, 
And  anointed  the  breeze,  ever  wont  to  stray 
"With  its  cooling  charm  at  the  close  of  day, 
I  sat ;— and  a  rapture,  unknown  before, 
Seemed  roused  in  the  midst  of  that  Floral  store, 


54  HOPE A    FRAGMENT. 

As  a  flower,  of  flowers  the  fairest  queen, 

In  that  beautiful  sisterhood  first  was  seen. 

With  its  fragrance  so  sweet,  and  its  tints  so  rare, 

Ko  rival  blossom  could  e'er  compare  ; 

And  I  gazed  with  a  new  and  strange  delight, 

As  the  sun  swept  on  to  his  couch  of  night. 

Long  ere  I  had  ended  my  fond  survey, 

"  The  glorious  king"  of  declining  day 

Had  'missioned  his  heralds  to  softly  close 

The  blossoms  which  joyed  in  a  fond  repose  ; 

And  I  sighed,  as  lovers  alone  can  do, 

When  my  beautiful  flower  was  lost  to  view. 

But  Hope,  forever  a  constant  friend, 
With  words  of  promise  drew  near  to  lend 
That  soothing  light  which  can  bless  and  cheer — 
That  guide  to  thought  in  its  dark  career  ; 
And  then,  I  kuew  that  my  longing  sight 
Should  again  be  blessed  with  a  morrow's  light — 
That  my  flower  again,  as  a  queenly  bride, 
Should  appear  in  the  blush  of  its  maiden  pride. 
Then  bright,  through  the  shadows  which  would 

destroy, 
Beamed  the  sunlight  promise  of  future  joy. 


LAST   ISLAND.  55 


LAST    ISLAND. 


[On  the  10th  of  August,  1856,  a  hurricane  swept  over  a 
portion  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  and  entirely  submerged  Last 
Island,  one  of  the  group  of  sand  islands  stretching  along  the 
southern  coast  of  Louisiana.  The  island  was  a  favorite 
summer  resort  for  planters  and  their  families,  and,  when 
visited  by  the  storm,  had  a  temporary  population  of  about 
four  hundred  souls,  chiefly  from  adjacent  parishes.  Of  this 
number  more  than  half  were  drowned,  and  every  building 
on  the  island  was  swept  away  by  the  fury  of  the  storm.] 


A  STRANGE  Wild  Spot 

"Was  that  "  Last  Island"  in  the  Mexic  sea, 
Where  winds  and  waves  and  wild  birds  wandered 
free; 

And  there  was  naught 

But  promised  joy  for  those  who  gathered  there 
To  seek  in  summer  ease  divorce  from  care. 

The  fair  and  young, 

The  wise,  the  eloquent,  the  true,  the  brave, 
Found  health  and  music  in  each  rolling  wave  ; 

And  wild  harps,  strung 
To  softer  minstrelsy,  essayed  to  please 
By  peans  gentle  as  the  gentlest  breeze. 


56  LAST   ISLAND. 

Oh,  what  delight 

It  was,  at  eve,  to  wander  round  the  isle 
When  all  was  golden  with  Sol's  parting  smile  ! 

And  when  young  Night — 
Her  zone  enriched  with  Yeuus  and  with  Mars — 
Arrayed  her  bosom  with  her  wealth  of  stars  ! 

Lovers  there  were 
Who   thus   would   wander,  and   who   thus  were 

blest ; 
While  e'en  the  foam-bells  on  each  wavelet's  crest, 

As  if  to  share 

In  love's  Elysium,  kissed  the  sounding  shore, 
And  with  prismatic  glories  strewed  it  o'er. 

Morn  to  the  isle 

Came  with  a  rosy  flush.     The  balmy  air 
Breathed  of  delights  which  it  were  bliss  to  share, 

And  Nature's  smile 

Never  more  true,  and  ne'er  more  kindly  seemed 
Since  first  in  light  it  on  creation  beamed. 

•  But  soon  a  change 
Spread  darkling  o'er  the  heav'ns.     The  sea-gulls' 

cry 
Gave  note,  prophetic,  of  some  danger  nigh, 

As  with  wild  rage 

They  swept  the  air,  and  sought,  perchance,  to  flee 
The  coming  fury  of  the  wind  and  sea. 


LAST    ISLAND.  57 

A  heaving  surge, 

With  all  a  storm's  deep  prelude  in  its  roar, 
Began  to  beat  along  the  island's  shore  ; 

And  still  did  urge 

Each  wave  its  fellow  with  resistless  force, 
And  hurried  onward  in  its  headlong  course. 

And  now  the  gale 

Burst  in  its  might  that  lonely  isle  upon. 
The  hurricane,  the  hurricane  swept  on, 

And  a  wild  wail, 
That  seemed  the  knell  of  hope,  and  shriek  and 

sigh 
And  wilder  prayers  assailed  the  stormy  sky. 

Gods  !  what  a  sight  ! 
When  the  mad  waves  overwhelmed  the  troubled 

Strand, 
And  mingled  in  their  yeast  that  isle  of  sand  ; 

And  in  their  might 

Bore  piecemeal  off,  as  trophies  of  their  foam, 
The  strong-bound  mansion  and  the  humbler  home. 

Amid  the  strife 

Of  raging  waters  and  of  raging  wind 
What  sure  protector  shall  weak  woman  find  ? 

And  childhood's  life, 
'Tis  as  a  bubble,  where  ascends  "  the  cry 
Of  the  strong  swimmer  in  his  agony  !" 


58  LAST    ISLAXD. 

0,  cruel  wave  ! 

Why  didst  thou  bear  from  a  fond  lover's  arms 
His  fair  affianced  one,  and  of  her  charms' 

So  fiercely  rave  ? 

And  when  thou  hadst  her  living  form  caressed, 
Why  didst  thou  hide  her  corse  within  thy  breast  ? 

But  on,  0  Death  ! 

Thou  hast  thy  harvest  now  ;  bestrew  thy  path 
With  the  dark  records  of  thy  wasting  wrath, 

For  fleeting  breath, 

Though  linked  to  immortality,  must  yield 
To  such  an  enemy  on  such  a  field  ! 

Yet  triumph  not, 

For  when  what  seemeth  human  life  is  gone, 
The  mortal  immortality  puts  on — 

A  blissful  lot ! 

And  meets  a  welcome  from  an  angel  band, 
In  songs  that  breathe  of  the  celestial  land. 

Xo  storms  are  there, 
In  that  far  country  of  supreme  delight, 
To  which  the  soaring  spirit  takes  its  flight, 

But  all  is  fail- 
As  seraph  dreams  of  some  supernal  isle, 
Bathed  in  the  light  of  God's  eternal  smile. 

A  steamer's  wreck, 

Imbedded  in  the  island's  shifting  sand, 
Forms  a  last  refuge  for  a  broken  band  ; 


LAST    ISLAND.  59 

And  on  her  deck 

Together  cling,  washed  by  the  'whelming  spray, 
The  few  who  mourn  the  many  swept  away. 

What  tears  were  shed — 
What  perilous  attempts  were  made  to  save 
The  fair  and  helpless  from  the  hostile  wave — 

What  lovers,  wed 

By  the  stern  storm's  espousal,  heard  their  knell 
In  the  loud  thunder's  crash  'twere  vain  to  tell ! 

Night  came  anon  ; 

O,  clingers  to  the  wreck,  a  fearful  night  ! 
The  lightning's  fitful  flash  your  only  light  ! 

Wives,  children  gone  ! 

Your  hearts  and  hearths  left  desolate  !  yet  o'er 
The  hurricane  still  sweeps  and  asks  for  more  ! 

So  passed  away 

A  night  of  anguish  on  the  stranded  wreck. 
Morn  came,  the  fury  of  the  storm  to  check ; 

And  as  the  day 

Advanced,  the  waters  fell,  and  the  lone  isle, 
E'en  in  its  ruin,  seemed  to  wear  a  smile  ! 

Along  the  strand, 

Care-worn  and  sad,  with  slow  and  mournful  tread, 
The  living  wander,  searching  for  the  dead  ! 

For  those  who  planned 

With  them,  but  yestermorn,  fair-fashioned  schemes 
Of  life  and  bliss,  now  fled,  like  morning  dreams  ! 


GO  LAST   ISLAND. 

And  here  and  there, 

Stretched  on  the  sand  or  roiling  with  the  wave, 
Some  dear,  familiar  form  demands  a  grave  : 

The  young,  the  fair, 

The  servant  and  his  master,  side  by  side — 
For  death,  the  robber,  robbed  them  e'en  of  pride  ! 

Sad  was  the  task 

To  give  them  fitting  sepulture — to  hide 
Its  fairest  trophies  from  the  moaning  tide, 

Which  seemed  to  ask, 

With  hollow,  dirge-like  cadence,  what  had  led 
These  tearful  mourners  thus  to  claim  its  dead  ! 

But  far  away, 

Down  in  the  depths,  or  to  some  distant  shore, 
Or  on  some  life-supporting  fragment,  o'er 

The  water's  play, 

The  lost  were  chiefly  borne.     How  few  again 
Shall  ever  mingle  in  the  walks  of  men  ! 

Another  night — 

A  night  of  storm,  and  still  another  day, 
A  day  of  anxious  longing  wore  away, 

Before  the  sight 

Of  a  strong  steam-urged  bark  announced  relief, 
And  joy  again  gleamed  o'er  the  brow  of  grief. 

Hail  to  the  saved  ! 

What  welcome  now  awaits  them  !  rapture  wild 
Is  that  fond  mother's,  when  she  clasps  her  child 


LAST   ISLAND.  61 

Who  fearless  braved 

The  war  of  waters — form  enclasped  to  form — 
And  hurried  questionings — the  storm  ?  the  storm  ? 

Strange  answer  came  : 
Absence  and  Silence  told  a  tale  of  dread — 
Spoke  of  the  loved — the  lost — the  early  dead, 

For  words  were  tame 
To  tell  how  desolation  breathed  upon 
The  isle,  and  its  inhabitants  were  gone  ! 

NEW  ORLEANS,  August,  1856. 


THE    SHADOW    ON    THE    PILLOW. 


THE  SHADOW  ON  THE  PILLOW. 


[A  highland  soldier,  who  had  been  severely  wounded  in 
battle,  and  whose  life  was  saved  by  the  careful  nursing  and 
gentle  ministrations  of  Florence  Nightingale — the  heroine 
of  the  Crimea — said,  on  being  asked  how  he  felt  towards  his 
preserver,  that  his  gratitude  was  too  great  for  words,  and 
the  only  mode  he  had  of  giving  vent  to  his  feelings,  was  by 
kissing  her  shadow  when  it  fell  on  his  pillow  as  she  passed 
through  the  ward  on  her  nightly  visit. — Foreign  Paper.] 


AMOXG  the  wounded,  on  his  couch, 
The  Highland  soldier  lay, 
And  from  his  wounds  the  tide  of  life 

Was  ebbing  fast  away, 
When  o'er  him  bent  a  gentle  form, 

To  hear  his  dying  tale — 
>Twas  that  angel  of  the  Hospital, 
Fair  Florence  Nightingale. 

"  Ah,  me  !"  he  cried — that  soldier  stern- 

"  My  wife  and  children  dear, 
So  far,  so  very  far  away, 

While  I  am  dying  here. 
Great  God  !  and  must  I  perish  thus  ; 

And  shelterless  and  lone, 
Leave  those  whose  love  is  more  than  life- 

My  beautiful — my  own  ?" 


THE    SHADOW    ON   THE    PILLOW.  63 

"  Cease,  soldier  !"  said  a  gentle  voice, 

"  For  He,  who  rules  on  high, 
Can  hear  as  well  the  widow's  wall 

As  the  young  raven's  cry. 
Trust  in  His  strength,  as  thou  art  weak, 

And  let  thy  prayers  ascend 
To  Him,  the  widow's  surest  stay — 

The  orphan's  kindest  friend. 

"  And  haply,  soldier,  we  may  yet, 

With  God's  good  aid,  restore 
Thee  to  thy  wife  and  little  ones 

As  hale  as  heretofore  ; 
And  0,  what  swelling,  thankful  hearts — 

What  joy  there  will  be  then, 
To  brighten  up  the  soldier's  home 

Within  his  Highland  glen  !" 

Like  dew  upon  the  bruised  reed — 

Like  light  to  dungeons  dark — 
Or  like  the  dove,  with  olive  boughs, 

Returning  to  the  ark, 
Came  those  kind,  gentle,  hopeful  words 

Unto  the  soldier's  ear, 
With  prophet-dreams  of  health  restored, 

And  home's  reviving  cheer. 

With  skillful  hands  the  angel  nurse 

Poured  oil  and  wine  upon 
The  soldier's  agonizing  wounds, 

Until  their  pang  was  gone  ; 


64  THE    SHADOW    OX   THE    PILLOW. 

And  still  she  nursed  him  tenderly 
Through  months,  which  glided  by, 

Before  health  bloomed  upon  his  cheek 
Or  brightened  in  his  eye. 

Ah,  gentle  one,  'tis  thine  to  bless  ! 

Thy  mission  is  divine  ; 
And  rays  from  Heaven's  mercy  seat 

Upon  thy  pathway  shine. 
There's  healing  in  thy  woman's  hand, 

And,  in  thy  woman's  heart, 
A  fount  of  gentleness,  whose  flow 

No  impulse  gains  from  art. 

And,  soldier,  say — what  thoughts  arise 

When  she,  thy  nurse,  appears  ? 
The  soldier  turned  upon  his  couch, 

And,  checked  by  manly  tears, 
He  answered,  "  words  are  weak  to  tell 

Her  shadow  seems  like  light, 
And  I  kiss  it  as  she  walks  the  ward 

To  cheer  the  sick  by  night !" 

ORLEANS,  November,  1856. 


THE  EAGLE  AND  THE  DOVE.         65 


THE  EAGLE  AND  THE  DOYE. 


[The  following  legend  was  related  to  the  author  at  one 
of  the  "  Posts  "  of  the  Hudson  Bay  Company.  The  "  Eagle  " 
and  the  "Dove  "  belonged  to  a  tribe  of  mountain  Indians,  in 
Lower  Canada,  among  whom  a  superstition,  relative  to  the 
deification  of  celebrated  warriors,  was  prevalent.  The 
religious  opinions  of  the  mountain  Indians  differ  in  many 
respects,  as  well  as  in  this  particular,  from  those  commonly 
received  by  the  American  tribes.] 


"IP)  ENEATH,  swept  on  the  mighty  stream, 

I  J    Above,  the  maiden  stood, 

And  calmly  fell  the  moon's  pale  beam 

Upon  that  ancient  wood. 
And  graceful  seemed  that  forest  maid, 

As  in  the  checkered  light, 
To  the  stern  battle-god  she  prayed 

For  succor  in  the  fight. 

Her  lover  was  an  Eagle  Brave, 

By  danger  compassed  round, 
Though  for  each  wound  his  arrows  gave, 

A  foe  would  bite  the  ground  ; 
But  she,  with  woman's  sympathy, 

And  woman's  fearless  love, 
Would  read  the  words  of  mystery 

The  stars  had  traced  above. 


66         THE  EAGLE  AND  THE  DOVE. 

An  earthen  mound  was  by  her  side, 

Within,  the  dust  was  laid 
Of  him — the  dead — the  deified, 

To  whom  that  maiden  prayed  ; 
And  long  she  prayed  before  the  god 

In  giant-guise  appeared, 
And  noiseless  o'er  the  velvet  sod, 

With  his  high  hand  upreared. 

He  moved, — and  pointing  to  the  sky, 

With  accents  cold  and  stern, 
He  said,  "  your  chief  in  victory 

To  you  can  ne'er  return. 
The  star  which  gleamed  along  his  path, 

With  its  protecting  light, 
Is  darkened  by  a  cloud  of  wrath 

Which  shadows  o'er  the  fight  : 

"  Your  loosened  spirit  can  alone 

Ascend,  and  roll  away 
The  cloud  which  o'er  that  star  is  thrown, 

To  intercept  its  ray. 
But  if  the  shadow  still  remains 

Around  your  Eagle-Brave, 
His  arm  no  more  its  strength  retains — 

His  bow  no  more  can  save." 

"  Then  his  shall  be  the  victory, 

As  his  has  been  the  right, 
If  death  and  darkness  shrouding  me 

Can  send  him  life  and  light n — 


THE  EAGLE  AND  THE  DOVE.          6t 

She  said — and  with  a  fawn-like  bound, 
She  plunged  beneath  the  stream  ; 

And  coldly  where  the  maid  was  drowned 
Still  slept  the  moon-lit  beam. 

But  soon  a  cloud  was  rolled  away 

From  the  o'erarching  sky, 
And  glittering  with  peerless  ray, 

A  star  appeared  on  high  : 
Again  an  arm,  as  erst,  was  strong — 

Again  a  bow  was  bent — 
But  little  knew  the  victor-throng 

By  whom  success  was  lent. 

And  now  the  storm  of  war  is  stilled, 

And  as  its  thunders  cease, 
For  victor  warriors  are  filled 

The  cups  of  love  and  peace  : 
And  many  a  maiden's  song  of  praise 

'Mid  forest-vines,  is  heard, 
As  joyous  as  when  upward  strays 

The  music  of  a  bird. 

But  she,  the  bird  of  sweetest  tone — 

The  Eagle-lover's  pride — 
Is  silent,  and  the  Dove  alone 

Is  distant  from  his  side. 
And  long  the  victor-chieftain  mourned 

The  silence  of  that  voice 
Which  never  to  his  ear  returned, 

To  gladden  and  rejoice. 


68         THE  EAGLE  AND  THE  DOVE. 

And  ne'er  again  his  battle-spear, 

Or  shaft-impelling  bow, 
Did  onward  urge  a  stern  career, 

To  triumph  o'er  a  foe. 
And  when,  at  length,  the  chieftain  died, 

Full  oft,  at  close  of  day, 
Two  spirit-shadows,  side  by  side, 

Were  seen  in  love  to  stray. 


LINES   TO  .  69 


LINES    TO  . 

AS  when  the  softly  wooing  breeze, 
In  fondness,  sweeps  the  sylvan  lyre, 
And,  mid  the  fragrant  orange  trees, 
A  sound  as  from  an  angel  choir, 
In  music,  tells  its  lov'd  career, 

While  all  the  odor-sweets  of  spring, 
A  sisterhood,  forever  dear, 

Attend,  on  zephyr's  viewless  wing  : 

So,  to  my  ear  thy  harp's  rich  sound 

Comes,  breathing  melody's  perfume  ; 
For  ne'er  was  sweeter  music  found 

To  stray  o'er  Eden's  virgin  bloom  : 
And  my  poor  harp,  all  lone,  and  sad, 

Would  fondly  echo  back  the  strain, 
If  it  thy  purer  ear  could  glad, 

And  bid  thee  wake  those  tones  again. 

But  fate  forbids.— The  blissful  dream 

Inspired  by  thy  minstrelsy 
Must  pass — for  never,  never  deem 

That  I  could  bring  down  cares  on  thee  I 


70  LINES   TO  . 

O!  would'st  thou  "cling?" — fond  creature !- 
th  on 

Art  far  too  innocent  and  fair, 
Before  the  storms  of  life  to  bow, 

And  with  me  all  their  perils  dare. 

Would  I  could  wed  thee  ! — but  the  thought 

Is  madness  ! — I  will  not  repine — 
Though  all  the  treasures  of  my  lot — 

My  heart  and  hurp  shall  aye  be  thine  : 
To  see  thee  fade,  I  could  not  bear, 

So  thou  shalt  be  my  "  spirit-bride  P 
Nor  time,  nor  misery,  nor  care 

Shall  ever  force  thee  from  my  side. 


LINES    ON   GEORGE    COOKE,    ESQ.  71 


LINES  ON  GEORGE  COOKE,  ESQ. 


[The  following  lines,  humbly  inscribed  to  the  nearest  and 
dearest  friend  of  the  deceased,  were  written  in  memory  of 
George  Cooke,  Esq.,  distinguished  alike  for  his  talents  as  an 
artist,  and  his  virtues  as  a  man.  Mr.  Cooke  departed  this 
life  on  26th  March,  1849,  at  his  residence  in  the  city  of 
New  Orleans.] 


THE  sun  of  genius  smiled  upon  his  way, 
And  warmed  his  soul  with  its  creative  beams, 
While  painted  fancies  round  him  seemed  to  play, 
To  bless  and  beautify  his  waking  dreams. 

Then  glowed  the  canvas  with  the  warmth  of  life, 
Then  Beauty  owned  the  magic  of  his  will, 

As  the  fond  mother  and  the  loving  wife 
Immortal  seemed — the  triumph  of  his  skill. 

The  wasting  ruin  and  the  floating  wreck — 

The  suffering  form — the  madness  of  despair— 
The  bower  which  Floral  offerings  bedeck — 
The  lover-hero,  doomed  to  "  do  and  dare" — 


72  LINES   ON   GEORGE   COOKE,    ESQ. 

All  these  have,  'neath  his  pencil's  magic  touch, 
Through  the  dim  vista  of  far-distant  years, 

Cast  a  reflected  light,  which,  Fame  shall  much 
Delight  to  cherish,  as  the  future  nears. 

And  while  Fame  waits  on  Genius;  Friendship, 
Love, 

Awake  in  Memory  the  tear  of  joy, 
As  soaring  Faith  attends  his  course  above, 

To  where  his  higher  "  talents"  claim  employ. 


RELIGION,    POETRY   AND   MUSIC.  73 


RELIGION,  POETRY  AND  MUSIC. 


[Written  for  a  Lady's  Album,  in  which  Religion,  Poetry 
and  Music  were  beautifully  represented  by  an  appropriate 
trio  of  figures.] 

RELIGION. 

"YTTHEN  sorrow's  mantle  shadows  o'er  the 
VV       soul, 

Religion  spreads  around  her  holy  calm 
Which  dissipates  the  tempest  clouds,  that  roll 

O'er  troubled  waters  as  the  spirit's  balm : — 
And  when  the  vanities  of  life  shall  end, 

And  earth's  endearments  have  forever  fled, 
Religion  then,   Hope's  Heaven  arch'd  bow  shall 
bend 

Above  the  silent  "  Cities  of  the  Dead." 


POETRY. 

The  poet's  fancy  is  a  breathing  stream 

Which  gathers  incense  from  each  flow'ry  way — 

As  full  of  freshness  as  love's  virgin  dream, 
And  wild  and  sportive  as  an  untamed  fay; 


74  RELIGION,    POETRY   AXD   MUSIC. 

It  binds  in  flowing  wreaths  the  burning  thought — 
It  plays  with  Jhe  wing'd  lightning  thro'  the  sky — 

It  laughs  at  Desolation's  tramp  ; — and  naught 
Can  tame  its  wildness,  or  its  sources  dry. 

MUSIC. 

The  voice  of  music,  like  an  angel's  breath, 

Xow,  full  of  gentle  sweetness,  soars  above 
The  fields  of  Fancy,  from  which  bards  enwreathe 

The  kindred  flowers  of  Purity  and  Love  ! 
And  now,  it  takes  a  spirit-stirring  tone 

Which  nerves  the  senses  fraught  with  martial 

strife, 
And  rolls  wild  ardor  through  the  "  living  zone" 

Which  circles  round  the  sterner  paths  of  life. 


ADDRESS.  75 


ADDRESS.* 


[Written  for  the  occasion  of  the  Firemen's  Annual  Benefit 
in  the  Variet6s  Theatre,  and  respectfully  dedicated  to  the 
Firemen  of  the  Consolidated  City  of  New  Orleans.] 


GOD  bless  the  Firemen  !— You  my  constant 
friends, 

From  whose  warm  hearts  the  generous  prayer  as 
cends, 

Can  give  the  orison  an  incense  wing  J 
As  soft  and  fragrant  as  the  breeze  of  spring. 
God  bless  the  Firemen  ! — let  the  echoes  rise, 
In  truthful  breathings  through  the  ambient  skies. 

When  in  the  "  noon  of  night "  the  loud  alarm 
Startles  the  sleeper,  and  the  voice  of  harm, 
Spoken  by  iron  tongues,  gives  note  that,  led 
By  fiends  of  flame,  empanoplied  with  dread, 
The  spirit  of  destruction  is  abroad, 
Fierce  with  the  fury  of  a  demon-god  ! 


*  This  Address  was  recited  by  that  gifted  actress,  Mrs. 
C.  Howard,  so  long  a  favorite  at  the  Varietcs,  in  185-. 


76  ADDRESS. 

Whose  then  the  task  to  meet  the  raging  foe  ? 
And  whose,  to  lay  the  fell  destroyer  low  ? 
Needless  it  were  to  answer.     All  can  tell, 
For  all  the  Fireman's  daring  know  full  well. 

Still,  onward  still,  Destruction's  lurid  tide 
Rolls  with  the  gale,  its  vassel  and  its  guide. 
Raging  and  surging  on,  from  roof  to  roof, 
As  if  it  claimed  for  its  own  mad  behoof, 
Art's  choicest  triumphs ;  while  the  builder's  skill 
Is  naught  compared  with  its  wild,  wayward  will. 

Now  the  proud  column  and  the  strong  bound 

arch 

Crumble  and  fall  beneath  the  onward  march 
Of  the  fierce  waves  of  flame,  which,  rising,  seem 
To  realize  some  hell-engendered  dream. 

But  tired,  at  length,  of  inorganic  prize, 
For  nobler  sacrifice  the  fire-fiend  cries — 
'Tis  life  he  asks — nor  longer  will  he  tread 
On  things  alone,  inanimate  and  dead. 
Ho  !  let  the  triumphs  of  the  loom  be  brought, 
And  golden  gifts,  and  treasure  tomes  of  thought ! 
He  mocks  them  all,  and  marks  them  with  his  hate, 
And  still  he  asks  for  Life  !  for  Life  ! — too  late, 
Perchance,  will  be  the  Fireman's  saving  arm 
To  free  from  danger  and  to  shield  from  harm. 


ADDRESS.  77 

Here  in  an  attic's  flame-encircled  height, 
A  little  child,  a  thing  of  life  and  light, 
Slumbers,  unconscious  of  the  danger  near — 
Its  angel  mother  never  taught  it  fear. 
'Twine  as  ye  list,  wild  wreathes  of  glaring  flame, 
Ye  cannot  check  the  Fireman's  noble  aim — 
He  rears  the  ladder — scales  the  tottering  wall — 
To  save  that  infant's  life,  he  perils  all  ! 
And  oh  !  success  his  saving  arm  attends — 
Heaven  will  befriend  him,  who  that  child  be 
friends  ! 

Then  is  it  strange  that  beauty's  gentle  breast 
Swells   with   wild    heavings,   as,    when    dream- 
caressed, 

"Whene'er  the  Fireman's  noble  deeds  are  told — 
And  love  is  his  reward — more  prized  than  gold  ? 
In  Beauty's  breast  'tis  e'er  the  Fireman's  aim 
To  kindle,  not  annihilate  a  flame  ; 
For  in  that  breast,  and  in  that  Beauty's  worth, 
Are  meet  rewards  for  more  than  deeds  of  earth. 
So  may  it  ever  be — let  woman's  eye 
Light  on  the  brave  to  nobly  do,  or  die  ! 


78  LINES. 


LINES. 


[Written  on  the  bursting  of  the  boilers  of  a  large  steam 
mill  in  Nova  Scotia.] 


sun  beamed  high  in   Heaven.     With 
I        tireless  arm 
The  steam-urged  engine  played  its   constant 

round, 
And  moved  with  iron-life,  as  if  a  charm 

Of  wizard  spell  was  in  its  motion  bound, 
And  lava-like  its  lymph-blood  boiled,  and  found 

Its  madd'ning  way  through  each  conflicting  vein ; 
And  foaming,  murmured  with  unearthly  sound 
Against  all  those  who  would  attempt  to  rein 
Its  madden'd  pulse,  or  giant  force,  for  fame  or  gain. 

But  soon,  determined  not  to  brook  control 
Nor  be  the  slave  of  man's  ambitious  might, 

It  burst  its  iron  vestment,  as  a  soul 

Bursts  its  dark  prison  for  the  realms  of  light. 

A  thousand  scattered  fragments  in  their  flight, 


LINES.  79 

And  the  loud  thunder  of  the  startled  air, 
Aroused  the  fears  of  each  attendant  wight, 

And  many  sought  their  fellows  in  despair, 
And  feared  for  each  that  death  which  all  might 
dread  to  share. 


For  mountain  heaps  of  masonry  and  brick 

Were  strewn  around  them  as  a  vengeful  rain 
Of  heav'n  directed  fury  :  fast  and  thick 

Fell   the  huge  fragments  ;  and  the  shriek  of 

pain 

Was  heard  ;  and  wond'ring  that  they  were  not 
slain, 

The  living  found  the  wounded  and  the  dead  ; 
The  mangled  body  and  the  scattered  brain 

Arrest  their  steps  ;  and  if  they  further  tread, 
The  scalded  man  appears  mid  devastation's  spread. 


80       THE  MAY  FLOWER  OF  THE  NORTH. 


THE  MAY  FLOWER  OF  THE  NORTH  * 

[In  imitation  of  the  Persian.] 

I. 

T3EATJTIFUL  flower,  why  dost  thou  nestle 
TJ  lowly  amid  the  snows  ?  The  chill  breeze 
of  the  North  is  upon  thee,  and  though  the  green 
leaves  of  thy  native  vine  gather  protectingly  round, 
they  cannot  gladden  and  warm  thee  as  could  the 
softer  smiles  of  a  sunny  clime.  Beautiful  flower, 
all  lonely  and  hidden  thou  lyest  now ;  but  if  thy 
petals  were  expanded  where  a  kinder  sun  warms 
a  land'  of  unfading  spring,  then  mightest  thou 
stand  erect  among  the  beautiful  children  of  Flora, 
and  claim  thy  worship  of  the  fragrant  sisterhood. 

II. 

Close  and  more  closely  nestled  the  beautiful 
flower  beneath  the  emerald  leaves  which  preserved 
their  freshness  through  all  the  storms  of  winter, 
and  grateful  for  the  shelter  they  afforded,  it  gave 

*  The  May  flower  is  the  political  emblem  of  the  Author's 
native  land,  Nova  Scotia. 


THE  MAY  FLOWER  OF  THE  NORTH.      81 

its  incense  to  the  tiny  bowers  which  decorated 
the  hillock  upon  which  it  grew.  A  faint  voice 
from  the  snow-margined  hillock  was  heard,  and  it 
seemed  to  say  :  "  I  sigh  not  for  the  land  of  un 
fading  spring,  nor  the  worship  of  a  gaudy  and 
haughty  sisterhood.  In  a  warmer  clime  the  hot 
sun  would  scorch  me  with  its  withering  beams, 
and  more  proud  and  queenly  flow'rets  would  look 
on  me  with  contempt.  Here  I  am  first,  and 
fondest,  and  dearest,  being  first — there,  amid 
continuous  bloom  I  could  not  be  first,  and  lowly 
and  unknown,  I  would  be  trampled  on  and  des 
pised."  Then  fainter  and  fainter  became  the  voice 
till  its  sounds  were  no  longer  heard. 

III. 

Beautiful  flower,  there  is  wisdom  in  thy  voice 
and  instruction  in  thy  leaves,  and  the  child  of 
man  who  listens  to  thy  teachings  will  learn  to  be 
humble  and  content.  Though  the  perfume  and 
the  beauty  of  the  orange  blossom  are  thine,  yet 
where  the  bloom  of  the  orange  sheds  its  fragrance 
on  the  air,  thou  mightest  indeed  be  overlooked  in 
thy  lowliness  and  trampled  on  in  neglect  ;  and  all 
unknown  in  thy  modest  beauty  and  humble  worth, 
thy  sweetness  wquld  be  wasted  and  thy  blushes 
be  unseen.  Beautiful  flower,  I  thank  thee  for  the 
lesson  thou  hast  given,  and  0,  that  I  may  profit 
by  thy  teachings  ! 


82  FRAGMENT   OF   A   POEM. 


FRAGMENT   pP   A    POEM. 

[Written  on  visiting  "  Signal  Hill,"  at  the  entrance  of  the 
harbor  of  St.  John's,  Newfoundland.] 


ENEATIT,  upon  the  harbor's  silv'ry  tide, 
JL3     The  white-winged  messengers  of  Commerce 

glide, 

Whose  banners,  trembling  in  the  unseen  breeze, 
Mark  whence  they  hail — these  wonders  of  the 

seas. 

We  turn — unnumbered  beauties  gild  the  scene ; 
In  the  rich  rays  of  evening's  rosy  sheen, 
The  distant  hills  with  burnished  splendor  rise 
To  kiss  the  cloud-robed  spirit  of  the  skies. 
Xearer,  the  fields,  whose  cultivated  soil 
Shows  the  reward  of  industry  and  toil, 
Bare  their  broad  bosoms  to  the  king  of  light, 
Who,  smiling,  lingers  as  he  bids — good  night ! 
While  nearer  still,  the  limpid  lake  is  spread, 
O'er  which  the  dancing  zephyrs  lightly  tread  ; 
And  into  which  the  purling  streamlets  flow, 
In  their  bright  journey  to  the  seas  below. 
And  here  is  reared  the  adamantine  rock, 
Whose  rugged  crest  ascends  aloft  to  mock 


FRAGMENT    OF    A   POEM.  83 

Th'  electric  blaze — the  thunder's  dreadful  roar, 
And  ocean's  surge,  which  sounds  along-  the  shore. 

Seaward  we  turn  our  gaze — and  from  the  steep, 
The  brown-sail'd  "Jack,"*  is  seen  to  skim  the 

deep; 

She  bears  the  fisher,  hardy,  strong  and  brave, 
And  ocean-treasures,  drawn  from  'neath  the  wave; 
By  day,  she  breasts  the  billowy  foam  ; — at  night, 
She  marks  her  course  with  phosphorescent  light. 

Aloft,  on  buoyant  wing,  the  sea-birds  rise, 
In  trackless  circles  through  the  ambient  skies, 
And   round   the  proud   ship   course   the  watery 

plain, 
And  mock  her  tardy  movements  in  disdain. 

Here  too,  the  soldier,  with  his  measured  pace, 
With  form  erect,  and  with  becoming  grace, 
Strides  to  and  fro,  and  glancing  o'er  the  foam, 
Thinks  of  his  early  love  1 — his  early  home  1 

And  here  we  stand  ;  and  ne'er  shall  be  erased 
These  pictur'd  scenes  on  meni'ry's  pages  traced, 
Yaried  in  beauty — wildly,  boldly  grand — 
By  Nature's  pencil  drawn,  by  Nature  planned. 
Amid  these  scenes  may  knowledge  rear  her  head, 
Her  brightest  lustre  here  may  virtue  shed, 
And  here  may  bards  of  brighter  genius  rise, 
"  For  souls  may  ripen  in  these  Northern  skies." 

*  A  fishing-boat,  so  called  in  Newfoundland. 


84  WRECK    OF   THE    NAUTILUS. 


WRECK  OF  THE  NAUTILUS/ 


"T~YT~AR  on  the  waters  !  now  the  Cyclone's 

VV       breath 

Bouses  the  waves  in  the  wild  dance  of  death, 
Tears  off  their  crests,  as  revolutions  tear 
The  crowns  from  Kings.    There's  fury  in  the  air, 
Assuming  horrent  shapes,  which  madly  sweep, 
With  demon  cries,  across  the  tortured  deep. 

Woe  to  the  mariner  !  his  oak-ribbed  bark 
No  more  can  serve  as  a  protecting  ark  ! 
Mastless  and  rudderless  she  drifts,  a  wreck, 
While  the  fierce  billows  thunder  on  her  deck, 
Still  clamorous  for  victims  !     Woe  to  thee, 
Thou  peopled  plaything  of  the  raging  sea  ! 

Here   cling    the   brave,    whom   storms    cannot 

appal, 

And  there,  the  timid,  who  all  vainly  call, 
In  prayers,  fear-prompted,  for  some  swift  relief, 
Still  mingling  with  the  waves  their  tears  of  grief. 


WRECK    OF   THE "  NAUTILUS.  85 

O,  soaring  Hope,  thy  gentle  wings  must  fail 
When  scathful  ruin  rides  upon  the  gale  ! 
Man's  puny  might  is  powerless  to  save  ; 
For  regal  Neptune  has  prepared  a  grave, 
All  coral  gemm'd,  down  in  his  purple  deep, 
And  summoned  all  his  Nereids  to  weep ! 

High  and  still  higher  rolls  the  mountain  surge  ; 
Fierce  and  still  fiercer  angry  tempests  urge 
Its  onward  sweep  :  it  comes  ! — it  comes  ! — be 
ware  ! — 

Whom,  in  its  'whelming  fury,  will  it  spare  ?  . 
O'erturned  and  torn,  a  thing  of  broken  pride, 
The  wreck  is  swallowed  by  the  hungry  tide, 
And,  as  it  disappears,  wild  prayers  and  cries 
Of  concentrated  agony  arise. 
O  man,  still  clinging  to  that  bubble,  life, 
Why  art  thou  still  with  destiny  at  strife  ? 
What  boots  thy  frantic  struggles?     Death  is 

nigh- 
Yield,  yield  and  learn  :   it  is  not  hard  to  die  I 

Some  sink  at  once  within  the  roaring  sea, 
To  rise,  the  heirs  of  immortality  ; 
While  others,  battling  with  the  billows,  gain 
A  few  sad  moments  more  of  life  and  pain. 
Thus,  one  by  one,  the  victims  disappear, 
Till  all  save  two  are  gone,  two  stragglers,  near 
Each  other  clinging  to  a  floating  tree, 
Thrown  in  their  way  by  chance  or  destiny. 


86  WRECK    OF   THE   NAUTILUS. 

The  storm  has  spent  its  fury  :  now  again 
Bright  skies  are  mirrored  in  the  glassy  main, 
And  the  two  seamen,  on  their  friendly  pine, 
Voyage  along  in  safety  o'er  the  brine. 
Their  bark,  of  roots  fantastic  is  possessed, 
Wreathed  in  the  form  of  a  gigantic  nest, 
Where,  in  the  wilds  of  ocean  solitude, 
Some  monster  bird  has  nursed  her  callow  brood. 

Here  nestling,  hopeful  seemed  the  twain  at  first, 
But  soon  came  hunger  and  unceasing  thirst 
To  rack  them  into  torture.     Oh  !  what  pain 
To  be  thus  starving  on  the  wat'ry  plain  ! 
To  hope  till  hope  assumes  the  guise  of  death, 
And  torture  is  increased  with  every  breath  ! 
Thus  days  and  days  were  spent,  till  phantoms 

rose 

With  ghastly  horrors  to  augment  their  woes ; 
Strange   shapes  flit  past  that  mocked  them  as 

they  flew  ; 
Strange  sounds  seemed  uttered  by  some  demon 

crew, 

And  all  seemed  strange,  and  terrible,  and  dread 
As  fiendish  revels  round  the  uushrived  dead  ! 
E'en  the  wing'd  fish,  in  fond  and  sportive  flight, 
Were  birds  of  evil  omen  to  their  sight  ; 
And  the  fair  nautilus,  with  silken  sail, 
Was  but  the  prophet  or"  some  rising  gale. 
Down  in  the  deep  what  monster  forms  drew  nigh, 
With  eyes  of  fire  ;  and  skeletons  swam  by, 


WRECK    OF   THE    NAUTILUS.  87 

Like  mocking  deaths,  which  seemed,  with  bony 

hand, 

To  point  new  terrors  in  some  viewless  land, 
Surrounded  thus  with  every  form  of  woe 
That  shipwrecked  man  was  ever  doomed  to  know, 
One  of  the  two  leaped  madly  in  the  tide 
To  cool  his  burning  brow  ;  he  sank,  and  died  ! 

The  other  still  lived  on,  if  it  be  life, 
When  every  breath  with  agony  is  rife, 
And  when,  with  waning  strength,  to  know  and  feel 
Has  more  of  pang  than  torture's  racking  wheel, 
lie  was  of  Ethiop  blood  and  stalwart  frame, 
And  lived,  he  knew  not  why.     No  honor'd  name 
And  wealth  of  hopes  were  his ;  still  lived  he  on 
Till  hope  and  all  but  agony  were  gone. 

Eight  days  of  pain  had  passed.     The  evening  star 
Already  gleamed  in  azure  depths,  afar, 
When,  like  some  sea  bird  vast,  a  sail  drew  nigh, 
Paused  by  the  pine  to  hear  the  victim's  cry, 
And  gentle  hands  raised  to  a  friendly  deck, 
The  lone  surviver  of  the  foundered  wreck. 

*The  steamship  Nautilus,  belonging  to  the  "Southern 
Steamship  Company,''  was  wrecked  by  the  hurricane  which 
swept  over  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  on  the  10th  of  August,  1856, 
and  by  which  Last  Island  was  destroyed.  She  was  at  the 
time  on  her  way  from  Galveston  to  New  Orleans  with  quite 
a  number  of  passengers.  All  on  board  perished,  with  the 
exception  of  the  colored  steward,  Jim  Frisby,  who  was 
rescued  on  the  eighth  day,  as  above  described. 


88  WONDERS    OF    NATURE. 


WONDERS  OF  NATURE. 

ASK  you  for  mystery  ? — then  look  upon 
The  ever  changing  miracle  of  life, 
And  if  you  can,  trace  out  the  wondrous  link 
Unseen,  which  joins  the  living  to  the  dead. 
The  dead  were  living  once,  ere  those,  our  friends, 
Had  form  and  being  ;  aye,  and  those  whose  life 
Now  charms  the  eye  of  animated  dust, 
Live,  on  what  lived  before.    The  flower  of  spring 
Which  gathers  fragrance  from  the  foulest  spot, 
And  gives  delicious  odors  to  the  breeze, 
Where  was  it  once  ?  whence  came  it  ?  who  can 

trace 
The  story  of  its  atoms  ? 

One  little  month  before 
It  ope'd  its  petals  to  the  wooing  winds, 
Where  was  the  scented  incense  of  its  charm? 
Where  were  those  softly-tinted  flow'ret-leaves, 
O'er  which  a  more  than  angel  skill  has  left 
The  traces  of  its  genius  ? — canst  thou  tell  ? 
Or,  with  thy  "  mind's  creative  eye  "  discern 
Aught  half  so  wonderful?     Oh  I  marvel  not 
"  The  glorious  king  of  day  "  bends  low  to  kiss 
These  "  handiworks  "  which  Nature's  potent  art 


WONDERS    OF   NATURE.  89 

Hath  wrought  out  with  an  alchimistic  charm 
From  Earth's  discordant  elements.     The  dust, 
The  stagnant  and  polluted  water-pool, 
And  the  revolting  triumphs  of  decay, 
Unsav'ry  and  unsightly,  these,  aye,  these 
Are  the  materialities,  with  which 
Nature  performs  her  wonders.     But  e'en  here 
We  find  the  oft-used  elements  which  have 
A  thousand  times  assumed  a  thousand  shapes, 
And  will  a  thousand  thousand  shapes  assume 
Ere  Nature  bids  them  rest.     All  other  things 
Which  glory  in  the  plastic  life  of  earth, 
Like  to  the  flow'rets,  flourish  and  decay, 
Then  wake  renewed  to  being.     Thus  it  is 
Through  all  the  fibres  of  that  silver  chord 
Which  circles  round  existence.     But  in  man 
A  stranger  mystery,  combined,  appears — 
A  mental — moral — mortal  mystery  I 
See'st  thou  that  strange  expression  in  his  eye  2 
That  stirring  in  his  blood  ?     His  face  appears 
To  bear  slight  record,  in  its  changeful  flush, 
Of  some  internal  converse.     Deep  within 
The  vast  profundity  of  noiseless  thought 
There  seems  a  movement  which  communicates 
A  mystic  impress  to  his  speaking  eye, 
The  mirror  of  his  soul. 

Even  that  eye 

Now  sparkling  with  so  eloquent  a  sheen, 
Will  all  its  lustre  lose,  if  we  withhold 
The  nurture  of  the  body.     And  that  cheek 


90  WONDERS  OF    NATURE. 

Which  crimsons  o'er  with  innocence  or  shame 

Will  lose  the  rushing  freshness  of  its  blood 

If  food  be  but  denied.     Does  thought,  concealed, 

And  undeveloped,  find  a  lurking  place 

In  each  insensate  clod  which  ministers 

To  give  organic  growth  ?    Is  that  which  leads 

To  thought  its  spirit-wing,  itself  unwinged  ? 

Is  the  low  produce  of  the  teeming  earth, 

An  atom  of  the  soul  ?     Cease,  daring  thought, 

Nor  farther  tempt  the  strange  inquiry, 

Which  spurns  at  thy  connection  with  the  dust. 


WHAT  "iS    LOVE    LIKE?  91 


WHAT  IS  LOVE  LIKE  ? 

~T~  IKE  the  balmy  breath  of  the  early  spring 

I  J     Is  the  first  fond  dream  of  love — 
A  spirit  which  sighs  on  its  viewless  wing, 
And  comes  as  from  worlds  above. 


Like  the  voiceless  music  which  breathes  delight 

In  the  mystic  and  ceaseless  roll 
Of  the  starry  hosts,  that  in  robes  of  light, 

Hymn  bliss  to  the  raptur'd  soul. 


Like  the  Moslem's  dream  of  a  happier  land, 
When  he  gives  to  his  fancy  wing, 

And  the  courtly  charms  of  a  Houri  baud 
Love's  flow'rets  around  him  flin^. 


Like  the  sun-born  ray  which  awakes  the  hues 
Of  the  blossoms  that  deck  the  plain, 

And  scatters  its  tints  through  the  morning  dews 
Which  have  mirrored  some  fairy  train. 


92  WHAT    IS    LOVE    LIKE  ? 

Like  the  joyous  song  of  the  forest  bird, 

As  it  warbles  its  blissful  lay, 
When  the  leaflet  worlds  in  the  winds  are  stirred, 

And  the  sylvan  nymphs  are  at  play  : 

Such,  such  is  love — may  its  blissful  dream, 

With  its  realm  of  untold  delight 
Round  thy  pathway  shine,  with  a  joyous  beam 

Of  affection,  forever  bright  ! 


The  foregoing  lines,  written  for  a  lady's  album  in  St. 
John's,  N.  F.,  were  in  answer  to  the  question  which  stands 
as  their  heading. 


THE  MOURNER'S  WAIT,.  93 


THE  MOURNER'S  WAIL. 


"  Blessed  are  they  that  mourn,  for  they  shall  be  comforted." 

[The  following  lines  were  written  at  the  request  of  Mrs. 
S — ,  a  relative  of  ex- President  Fillmore's,  and  are  intended 
to  convey  a  faint  idea  of  her  feelings  when  her  two  sons 
were  suddenly  called  away  to  the  spirit-land,  in  the  bloom 
of  early  manhood.] 

AND  have  ye  gone,  my  children,  have  ye  fled, 
In  life's  warm  spring-time,  to  that  silent 
bourn, 

Whose  cheerless  chambers  welcome  but  the  dead, 
And,  closing  once,  admit  of  no  return  ? 

7Twas  hard  to  part ! — I  loved  you  well,  my  boys, 
For  oh  !  your  lives  were  strangely  linked  with 
mine, — 

A  part  they  were  of  my  maternal  joys, 
And  sad  it  was  to  watch  your  son's  decline. 

Too  soon  he  came,  the  minister  of  fate, 
The  pale,  grim  archer  of  the  fleshless  hand, 

And  left  me  here,  lone  and  disconsolate, 

As  she  who  mourned  the  loss  of  Judah's  land. 


94  THE  MOURXER'S  WAIL. 

Grief,  like  a  cloud,  hung  heavy  o'er  my  soul, 
With  starless  midnight's  all-pervading  gloom  ; 

"While  round  me  seemed  to  stalk  the  demon-ghole, 
Fresh  from  his  revel  feastings  in  the  tomb. 

The  world  appeared  all  sad  :  e'en  hope  had  veiled 
The  cheering  brightness  of  her  angel-face  ; 

And  mournfully  the  sighing  breezes  wailed, 
Like  the  lone  echoes  of  some  phantom  race. 

Then  came  the  silent  dullness  of  despair, 

With  the  strange  solace  of  out-gushing  tears, 

Which  flow  in  blessedness,  as  if  to  bear 

The  heart's  deep  sorrows  in  their  pearly  spheres. 

And  sinful  seemed  my  selfish  wail  ;  but  soon 
"  A  still  small  voice  "  low  whispered  in  my  ear, 

Soft  as  the  song-bird's  melodies  in  June, 

And  sweet  as  freighted  with  an  angePs  cheer. 

"  Death  is  the  door  of  life  " — so  spake  the  voice, 
"  The  darkened  portal  to  the  brighter  land 

Where  earth's  poor  mourners  evermore  rejoice, 
With  the  high  hymns  of  an  immortal  band. 

"  Thy  sons  are  living  still — a  larger  life 

Than  earth  can  give,  or  death  can  take  away, 

Is  theirs — existence,  freed  from  care  and  strife, 
And  spirit  joys,  uncumbered  by  the  clay. 


THE  MOURNER'S  WAIL.  95 

"  With  them  all  love  is  purity,  and  light 

Beams  from  its  Central  Source,  so  soft  and 

clear, 

That  that  which  darkness  was,  becomes  all  bright, 
And  blissful  homes,   '  not  made  with  hands/ 
appear. 

"  Immortal  fruits  there  ripen  for  the  blest, 
In  God's  own  garden,  of  unfading  bloom  ; 

And  angels  welcome  still  the  stranger  guest 
Who  comes  a  weary  pilgrim  from  the  tomb." 

Thus  having  breathed,  the  seraph-whisper  ceased ; 

But  Death   no  more  seemed  Terror's  tyrant 

King— 
The  usher,  rather,  to  a  sacred  feast 

Where  ransom'd  souls  celestial  music  sing. 


96  THE    PLEASURES   OF   PIETY. 


THE  PLEASURES  OF  PIETY. 

LET  worldly  mirth  hymn  loud   her  syren 
song  ; 

Let  passion-pleasures  their  enchantments  spread ; 
Let  beauty  circle  round  the  festive  throng, 

With  a  fond,  rapturous,  fantastic  tread  ; 

Let  her  extend  her  hand,  and  we  be  led 
Through  the  wild  mazes  of  the  stirring  dance, 

Where  young  desire  shall  be  all  fondly  fed 
With  nectar-sweets  :  and  love's  enkindling  glance 
Shall  call  up  in  the  soul  a  most  delusive  trance  : 

Yet  these  are  flow'rets  which  are  doomed  to  fade  ; 

The  fleeting  breath  of  transitory  joy, 
All  fragrant  for  a  moment,  and  then,  made 

To  mingle  with  the  poisons  which  destroy  : 

These  are  the  sweets  which,  fondly  tasted,  cloy 
The  ardent  longings  of  excited  sense  ; 

And  these  the  burning  glances  which  destroy, 
And  leave  no  soft  abiding  recompense 
To  soothe  the  joyless  soul's  farewell  to  Innocence. 

But  in  the  peaceful  ways  of  pleasantness, 
Which  Piety  points  out  as  Virtue's  road, 

Joys,  never-fading,  ever-truthful,  bless 

The  fainting  pilgrim,  bending  'neath  his  load  ; 
Onward  he  journeys  to  a  lov'd  abode, 


THE    PLEASURES    OF    PIETY.  9 

Forever  seen  by  Faith's  far-stretching  eye, 

And  grateful  for  the  kindnesses  bestowed 
By  Him  who  fills  the  circuit  of  the  sky, 
He  bows  with  holy  trust,  and  worships  the  Most 
High. 

His  is  a  sacred  pleasure — his  a  trust 

Which  nerves  the  spirit  with  a  fond  delight — 
A  sweetly  savor'd  balm,  which  ever  must 

The  secret  soul  to  extacies  invite, 

Buoyant  with  cheerful  prospects  which  unite 
The  earthly  and  the  heav'nly,  he  appears 

With  holy  visions  on  his  raptur'd  sight, 
To  look  beyond  this  world  of  care  and  tears 
To  where  a  fadeless  land  of  happiness  appears. 

And  joyous,  too,  are  they — the  fair — the  young, 

Who  folly's  cup  have  never  learned  to  drain  ; 
Who  ne'er  have  listened  to  the  charmer's  tongue, 

Breathing,  with  skillful  lure,  the  fatal  strain  ; 

Ne'er  have  they  known  the  grief-producing  pain 
Of   Thought's  compunctious    whisper,   and    im 
pressed, 

Like  the  soft  calm  which,  stretching  o'er  the 

main, 

Pictures  the  deep  blue  Heav'n  in  ocean's  breast, 
They  seem  to  shadow  forth  the  joys  of  future  rest. 


98  VISIT    OF   THE    SUNBEAMS 


VISIT  OF  THE  SUNBEAMS  TO  THE 
FALLS  OF  NIAGARA. 

FROM  orient  realms,  in  depths  of  space  afar, 
Young  sunbeams  travel  in  their  golden  car  ; 
Lightly  they  glance  along  old  Ocean's  breast, 
Enkindling  sea-gems  on  each  wavelet's  crest  ; 
O'er  flow'ry  plains  and  verdant  fields  they  pass, 
Where  dewy  pearls  adorn  each  blade  of  grass — 
Where  fragrance  rises  from  the  tears  of  Night 
When  smiled  on  by  these  messengers  of  light, 
These  angel  visitants  of  earth,  whose  ray 
Receives  its  lustre  from  the  God  of  Day. 

Away,  away  they  speed — and  many  a  grove 
Sends  forth  its  tuneful  melodies  to  rove 
Amid  the  brightness  of  their  path,  and  sing 
A  mournful  anthem  on  exultant  wing. 
Still  on  they  pass — the  cottage  and  the  hall, 
The  snow-crown'd  mount,  the  ivied  castle  wall, 
The  rich  man's  mansion  and  the  poor  man's  home 
Are  lighted  by  their  presence  as  they  roam. 

Beside  Niagara,  entranced,  I  stood, 
Awed  by  the  thunder  of  its  falling  flood, 
Stilled  by  the  voice  of  its  eternal  roar, 
Passions  were  lull'd  and  fancy  taught  to  soar. 


TO    THE    FALLS    OF    NIAGARA.  99 

'Tvvas  early  morn,  and  as  the  Sunbeams  came 
In  golden  grandeur  from  a  world  of  flame, 
They  reveled  in  their  brightness,  mid  the  trees, 
Whose  fresh  leaves  fluttered  in  the  whisp'ring 

breeze, 

Then  rested,  old  Niagara,  on  thee — 
Sovereign  of  streams  and  type  of  majesty  ! 
Thy  smiling  courtiers,  rising  from  thy  feet, 
Rise  up  on  wings  of  amber-mist  to  greet 
Sol's  bright  ambassadors — they  meet — they  bring 
A  rainbow-wreath  to  crown  the  Cascade  King  ! 
'Twas  brightly  beautiful  !  its  changeful  hues 
Were  brilliant  as  the  love-dreams  of  the  muse  ; 
While  blending  glories  glittered  in  each  gem 
Set  in  that  fair  supernal  diadem. 

On  pass  thy  Sunbeams  and  the  vapors  bright 
In  mystic  dance  of  loveliness  and  light ; 
Wildly  they  wander  through  the  Gelds  of  air, 
Or  stoop  to  kiss  sweet  Flora's  children  fair  ; 
New  charms  expand  in  the  bright,  beauteous  race, 
And  fragrance  welcomes  still  the  fond  embrace  ; 
With  ever-varying  tint  each  petal  glows, 
The  smiling  lily  hails  the  blushing  rose — 
Still  on  they  go,  through  garden,  field  and  grove, 
la  ceaseless  rounds  of  harmony  and  love  ! 


100  THE    SOXG    OF    LABOR. 


THE  SONG  OF  LABOR. 

[Written  by  request,  and  read  at  the  Anniversary  celebra 
tion  of  the  "Screwman's  Benevolent  Association,"  of  New 
Orleans.] 

HO  !  idling  drones  of  this  teeming  earth, 
Make  way  for  the  sons  of  toil, 
Who  redeem  the  promise  implied  by  birth, 

And  live  not  by  theft  or  spoil  ; 
Faith  clings  to  the  manly  and  honest  grasp, 

And  brightens  their  eagle-glance, 
And  lordlings  quake,  like  the  trembling  asp, 
As  the  sons  of  toil  advance. 

With  a  stalwart  arm  and  a  trenchant  blade 

The  forests  are  cleared  away, 
And  Labor  laughs,  as  with  hoe  and  spade 

It  delves  in  the  virgin  clay  : 
Whatever  it  touches  is  turned  to  gold  ; 

Fair  fruitful  fields  appear 
Where  deserts  moaned  in  the  days  of  old, 

And  knew  not  the  harvest's  cheer. 

There's  a  magic  charm  in  the  toiler's  hand — 

An  all  but  creative  might — 
Which  a  thought  can  clothe,  and  a  dream  expand, 

Till  they  burst  on  the  gazer's  sight 


JHE    SOXG    OF    LABOR.  101 

In  temples  fair,  and  in  fabrics  strange — 

The  triumphs  of  plastic  art  ; 
Which  can  give  to  Science  its  widest  range, 

And  to  Commerce  its  golden  mart. 

The  stately  ship,  which  in  pride  careers 

O'er  the  wilds  of  the  pathless  sea, 
And  the  mystic  needle  by  which  she  steers, 

Brave  toiler,  were  made  by  thee  : 
The  freight  she  bears  is  thy  gathered  store, 

From  mountain  and  field  and  mine — 
Prom  the  forest  shade,  from  the  pearl-strewn  shore, 

And  the  caverned  depths  of  brine. 

Thou'st  built  the  palace  and  sacred  fane, 

And  fashioned  the  kingly  crown  : 
The  cities  which  smile  upon  hill  and  plain, 

And  forts  to  defend  or  frown  ; 
The  broad  canal  and  the  iron  rail, 

And  the  lightning's  nerve-like  wire, 
Which  can  thrill  with  thoughts,  or  in  sadness  wail, 

Like  the  strings  of  Apollo's  lyre. 

The  household  gods  in  the  lowly  home 

Are  sacred  made  by  thee  : 
They  are  dear  as  the  perfumed  amber-foam 

To  the  gods  of  the  sounding  sea. 
The  tilings  of  use,  and  for  courtly  show, 

Spring  alike  from  thy  cultured  skill : 
Then  assert  thy  rights,  and  let  rulers  know 

The  might  of  the  toiler's  will ! 


102  THE    SONG    OF   LABOR. 

Ho  !  idling  drones  of  this  teeming  earth, 

Make  way  for  the  sons  of  toil, 
Who  redeem  the  promise  implied  by  birth, 

And  live  not  by  theft  or  spoil : 
Faith  clings  to  their  manly  and  honest  grasp 

And  brightens  their  eagle-glance, 
And  lordlings  quake  like  the  trembling  asp', 

When  the  sons  of  toil  advance. 


HENRY    CLAY.  103 


HENEY    CLAY. 

[The  following  lines,  written  at  the  request  of  the 
New  Orleans  u  Clay  Monument  Association,''  were  read 
by  the  Author  at  the  laying  of  the  Corner-Stone  of  the 
Monument,  on  Canal-street,  April  12th,  1856.] 

~T~   ONELY  the  mill-boy  wends  his  weary  way, 
I  J  Too  soon  inured  to  toil.    A  mother's  wants — 
A  widowed  mother's — claim  his  young  regard, 
And  labor  is  a  pleasure.     Sometimes  thoughts, 
Prophetic  of  the  future,  stir  his  soul, 
And  give  ambition  wings.     Golden  and  grand 
The  hills  of  Fame,  in  the  dim  distance,  rise 
All  spangled  o'er  with  triumphs,  and  he  feels 
That  he  can  mount  them  with  an  earnest  tread, 
And  wreathe  a  fadeless  chaplet  for  his  brow. 

Nature  is  his  instructor  : — trees  and  flowers  ; 
The  sparkling  gems  in  Night's  cerulean  dome  ; 
The  spring-time  warblers,  and  th'  insensate  clod — 
All  teach  him  wondrous  lore.    Bright  as  the  sheen 
Of  an  archangel's  wing  his  thoughts  take  form 
In  rudimental  beauty,  but  his  tongue, 
As  yet  unskilled  in  verbal  witcheries, 
All  vainly  strives  to  give  them  fitting  speech. 


104  HENRY    CLAY. 

Time  speeds  its  flight :  the  mill-boy's  hopes  expand, 
Friends  gather  round  with  kindly  proffered  aid, 
And  he  becomes  a  student.     Books  are  his — 
The  treasure-tomes  of  deep  forensic  skill — 
Mazes  of  written  and  unwritten  law — 
And  he  attempts  the  hard  though  pleasant  task 
Of  searching  out  their  hidden  mysteries. 

Who  speaks  of  failure  to  that  ardent  boy  ? 

He  scorns  the  timid  word  !     His  soul  has  grown 

On  young  ambition's  manna,  and  he  dreams 

That  he  shall  yet  so  fix  his  name  on  Time 

That  all  the  Future  cannot  blot  it  out. 

And  oh  !  his  mother  mingles  with  his  dream  ; 

That  gentle  mother,  who,  in  poverty, 

Had  trained  his  infant  steps  ;  and  in  his  eyes 

Had  looked  her  doting  love  ;  and  in  his  ear 

Had  breathed  a  mother's  purest,  kindest  thoughts. 

And  so,  the  boy  dreams  on,  and  studies  on — 

Each  day  a  new  success  !     The  richest  stores 

Of  legal  erudition  soon  are  his, 

And  with  the  strength  of  a  fresh  giant  mind 

He  boldly  joins  in  the  polemic  fray. 

JS"ow,  like  "  the  star  of  empire,"  westernward 
He  onward  speeds,  and  where  Kentucky's  fields 
Spread  out  its  virgin  beauty,  he  begins 
The  summer  labors  of  an  active  life. 

With  "  the  stern  joy'7  the  generous  foenian  feels, 
When  battling  with  the  brave,  in  mental  strife 


HENRY   CLAY.  105 

He  meets  the  ablest  jurists  of  the  West, 
Reason  his  sword,  and  eloquence  his  shield. 
Strong  as  the  heaving  of  a  mountain  wave  ; 
Playful  as  zephyrs  toying  with  fair  flowers  ; 
Clear  as  the  light,  and  luminous  as  stars, 
His  thoughts  take  wing,  and  clothe  themselves 
with  words. 

In  proud  preeminence,  high  over  all, 

Like  Saul  above  his  fellows,  forth  he  stands, 

A  giant  among  giants.     Soon  the  halls 

Of  legislation  echo  to  his  voice, 

While  plaudits  hail  the  wisdom  of  his  speech. 

Deep,  vast  and  comprehensive,  now  his  mind 

In  questions  of  high  polity  engaged, 

Becomes  a  nation's  guide. 

When  storms  arise 

His  are  the  clarion-tones  which  counsel  war, 
While   others  prate   of    "  Peace  !"    Honor   and 

Right ! 

The  flag's  protective  pow'r  ! — these  are  his  themes; 
And  when,  with  burning  words,  he  gives  them 

voice, 

The  pulses  of  a  people's  will  are  stirr'd, 
As  fierce  winds  stir  the  ocean  to  its  depths. 
His  counsels  sage  time  fails  not  to  approve  : 
The  seas  gain  other  sov'reigns  ;  and  the  name 
Of  proud  Columbia  brightens  to  a  world — 
The  dread  of  despots,  but  the  hope  of  man ! 


106  HENRY   CLAY. 

With  the  charm'd  utterance  of  "  Compromise," 
He  breathes  a  spell,  and  civil  discord  ends  ; 
Strife  shrinks  within  its  covert,  exorcised, 
And  the  broad  Union  hails  the  cherish'd  word  I 
He,  too,  is  Freedom's  pleader — he,  the  wise, 
The  brave,  the  eloquent,  the  nation's  guide  I 
He  pleads  for  struggling  Greece  ;  and  every  sound 
Is  turned  into  a  sword.     But  for  his  voice, 
The  noblest  river  of  this  Western  land — 
Our  own  broad  Mississippi — would  have  been 
The  claim  of  rival  powers,  and  the  source 
Of  fierce  contention  and  of  wasting  wars. 

So  lived  he  on — the  statesman  and  the  sage  : — 
And  when  the  herald  from  the  shining  land 
Appeared  to  claim  him,  firm  at  duty's  post 
The  Christian  Tribune  pleading  still  was  found- 
Pleading  for  Brotherhood  and  Compromise  ! 

He  passed  ! — from  breathing  dust  to  endless  life — 
From  earth's  closed  labors  to  supernal  spheres  1 

Gone  is  the  peerless  commoner,  self-made, 

Whose  acts  were  all  a  triumph  ;  who,  to  gain 

The  proudest  honors  in  a  nation's  gift, 

Would  ne'er  forsake  the  right ;  and  now,  his  praise 

Falls  from  all  lips  in  heartfelt  gratitude. 

Fitting  it  is  his  cenotaph  to  rear 

In  view  of  the  glad  waters  of  that  tide 


HENRY   CLAY.  107 

* 

Whose  Commerce  speaks  his  constant  eulogy : 

This  is  the  corner-stone  :  and  here  to-day 

Assembled  thousands  see  it  firmly  laid. 

Above,  to  bear  his  fame  to  latest  time, 

In  monumental  marble,  shall  arise 

The  faint  translation  of  a  grateful  thought 

Which  swells  in  each  true  breast  for  HENRY  CLAY. 


108  LIGHT. 


LIG.HT. 

LIGHT,  beautiful  light  1 
Light,  the  reflection  of  Deity's  smile, 
That  wakeneth  worlds  from  the  chaos  of  night, 

And  brightcneth  ocean  and  isle. 
Fleet  as  a  thought  o'er  the  waters  careering, 
Iris  hued  pearls  in  thy  pathway  appearing, 
Gleam  on  the  foam,  while  the  depths  thou  art 
cheering — 

Light,  beautiful  light  ! 

Light,  cherishing  light  ! 
Light  as  it  lingers  o'er  forest  and  field — 
That  tinteth  the  flowers  to  gladden  the  sight, 

And  brightens  their  emerald  shield. 
Thou  to  the  gardens,  in  glory  descending, 
Mystical  beauties  forever  art  blending, 
While   to  the   fruit-trees   rich   treasures  thou'rt 
lending — 

Light,  cherishing  light ! 

Light,  gladdening  light  ! 
Light  that  converteth  to  diamonds  the  dew, 
That  wakens  the  morn  with  a  hymn  of  delight, 
As  if  'twere  created  anew  ! 


LIGHT.  109 

When  over  nature  thy  mantle  thou'rt  flinging, 
Groves  become  vocal,  and  birds  with  their  singing 
Gush  forth  in  praise,  like  a  fountain  upspringing — 
Light,  gladdening  light  ! 

Light,  truth-telling  light  ! 
Light  as  it  conies  from  the  radiant  spheres, 
That  shadows  dispels  with  its  silvery  might, 

And  dangers  and  phantoms  and  fears. 
Bright  through  the  lattice  thy  matin  rays  streaming, 
Startle  the  maid  from  her  passionate  dreaming, 
Showing  the  true  from  that  only  in  seeming — 
Light,  truth-telling  light ! 

Light,  heavenly  light ! 

Light,  as  in  brightness  it  beams  on  the  mind, 
That  seems  with  a  pencil  of  glory  to  write 

High  lyrics  of  hope  for  mankind. 
Mortals,  the  mystical  tablet  divining, 
Still  for  the  fair  and  the  holy  are  pining, 
While  their    best    thoughts   thou   art  upwards 
inclining — 

Light,  heavenly  light  ! 


110  KEEP   STEP  TO   THE    MUSIC. 


KEEP  STEP  TO  THE  MUSIC. 

Keeping  step  to  the  music  of  the  Union." — RUFTJS  CHOATE. 


I /^EEP  step  to  the  music — the  music  that 
JL\-        thrills 

The  national  heart,  from  the  sea  to  the  hills, 
And  which  in  one  glorious  anthem  combines 
Its  holiest  hopes  and  its  noblest  designs. 


Keep  step  to  the  music — though  traitors  advance 
With  a  banner  of  black,  and  with  uplifted  lance, 
Be  our  footfall  but  firm  they  will  soon  pass  away, 
Like  the  dew-damps  of  night  in  the  brightness 
of  day  ! 

Keep  step  to  the  music — that  song  of  the  stars 
Which  brighten   our  standard — come  peace   or 

come  wars. 

Our  step  shall  be  true,  and  THE  Uxiox  shall  be 
The  watchword  and  hope  of  the  brave  and  the 

free  ! 


KEEP   STEP  TO   THE   MUSIC,  111 

Keep  step  to  the  music — and  trample  in  scorn 

On  fratricide  foemen  of  treachery  born ; 

Tear  down  their  black  banner,  and  raise  in  its 

stead 
The  flag  'neath  which  freemen  and  heroes  can 

tread. 

Keep  step  to  the  music — its  tones  are  as  dear 

As  the  voices  of  home,  to  the  patriot's  ear  : 

The    march  is  a  Nation's,   whose    States    e'er 

shall  be, 
"  Distinct  as  the  billows,  yet  one  as  the  sea." 

The  above  lines  were  written  in  1856,  and  were  set  to 
music  by  M.  THEODORE  VON  LA  HAGHE,  of  New  Orleans. 


112  LINES. 


LINES. 

[Written  for  a  Lady's  <;  Hair  Album,"  at  Niagara.] 

DEAft  braided  locks  1  which  tell 
Of  the  distant,  the  departed, 
As  the  songs  of  ocean  murmur  in  the  shell  ; 
And  which  whisper — "  All  is  well  1" 
When  we  might  be  lonely  hearted 
And  with  voiceless  music  mystically  swell. 

Locks  fair,  and  dark,  and  gray, 
Erst  to  kindred  ringlets  mated  ; 

Severed  from  the  crowns  of  loved  ones  now  away. 
Some  in  spirit-gardens  stray, 
Warmed  by  suns  all  uncreated, 

And  some  still  linger  with  us  in  the  clay. 

To  other  times  ye  pass, 

Bright  aids  to  recollection, 
Mirroring  the  storied  past  as  in  a  glass, 

And  shall  we  cry,  alas  ! 

In  our  spirit's  deep  dejection, 
For  those  cut  down  and  withered  as  the  grass  ? 


LINES.  113 

No  :  they  shall  reappear 

In  a  land  of  light  unending, 
Where  no  eye  shall  e'er  be  dimmed  by  a  tear — 

In  that  higher,  purer  sphere 

Where  celestial  glories  blending, 
Shall  form  a  crown  for  those  who  triumph  here. 


114     THE  DREAM  OF  THE  FIRST  INFANT. 


THE  DREAM  OF  THE  FIRST  INFANT. 


IN  days  of  bliss  when  the  earth  was  young, 
And  the  flow'rets  laughed  in  their  primal  birth, 
When  song-birds  fluttered  the  groves  among, 
And  'wakened  the  echoes  of  sinless  mirth  ; 
Then,  then  was  the  pride  of  the  garden  given — 
The  choicest  gift  of  indulgent  heaven — 
And  man  was  glad  ;  for  a  richer  sheen 
Seemed  born  with  the  smile  of  his  Eden-queen. 

With  gayer  plumage  and  sweeter  voice, 
With  purer  fragrance  and  tints  more  choice, 
The  birds  and  flowers  appeared  to  bring 
To  the  bridal  bower  their  offering. 
So  rich  and  rare  was  that  bridal  gift, — 

So  pure  and  dulcet  the  spousal  song, 
That  they  seemed  the  souls  of  the  lov'd  to  lift 

To  the  courts  of  bliss  where  the  angels  throng. 


THE  DREAM  OF  THE  FIRST  INFANT.     115 

On  a  sunny  morn  of  another  spring, 
When  the  birds  of  Eden  were  gay  of  wing, 
When  the  sunbeams  danced  and  the  playful  breeze 
With  the  green  leaves  toyed  of  the  incense-trees, 
As  sporting  mid  treasures  of  opening  bloom, 
Its  pinions  were  laden  with  rich  perfume ; 
On  that  sunny  morn,  where  a  gentle  stream 
Was  kissed  by  the  light's  most  golden  beam, 
Beneath  the  shade  of  that  fabled  tree, 
Whose  leaves  were  attuned  to  minstrelsy, 
A  mother  sat — 'twas  a  thing  of  joy, 
To  see  her  there  with  her  first-born  boy — 
That  first  fond  mother — for  pure  and  fair 
They  seemed  as  they  sat  together  there. 

Oh,  bright  was  the  smile  on  that  mother's  face 

As  the  wing  of  the  angel  that  passed  her  by, 
When  her  glances  of  love  first  learned  to  trace 

The  picture  of  thought  in  her  infant's  eye. 
The  wings  of  the  angel  might  yet  be  seen, 
And  the  sceptre  he  bore,  with  its  dazzling  sheen, 
And  his  beautiful  face  half  hidden  from  sight 
In  a  graceful  halo  of  heavenly  light  ; 
And  never  before  had  that  earth-born  child 

Looked  out  on  a  picture  which  seemed  so  fair, 
And  the  earliest  mother  of  infants  smiled, 

As  if  in  the  joy  of  her  child  to  share. 

'Twas  a  morn  of  beauty — the  birds  so  gay, 
With  gorgeous  plumage,  from  spray  to  spray, 


116     THE  DREAM  OF  THE  FIRST  INFANT. 

All  lightly  moved,  and  their  melody 
Seemed  to  echo  the  tones  of  the  minstrel-tree. 
The  blossoms,  the  buds  and  the  emerald  shade, 
The  pearly  stream  where  the  sunbeams  played, 
The  light  and  the  song,  and  zephyr's  flight 
Gave  birth  to  the  transports  of  young  delight. 
0,  ne'er  was  the  spirit  of  infancy 

Awakened  to  thought  in  a  scene  more  blessed, 
And  never  was  child  on  its  mother's  knee 

More  dearly  loved,  or  more  fondly  pressed. 


As  calm  as  the  petals  which  gently  close 
When  the  eve  invites  them  to  soft  repose, 
And  pure  as  the  dew  which  from  heaven  fall 
When  the  stars  illumine  their  azure  halls, 
So  calm  and  pure  did  refreshing  sleep 
O'er  that  infant's  senses  its  vigils  keep. 


The  mother  whispered  a  lullaby, 

To  deepen  the  sleep  of  the  slumberer, 
And  the  voice  of  the  angel  gave  sweet  reply, 

In  tones  of  delight  that  were  new  to  her  ; 
Then  the  angel  plumed  his  wings  for  flight, 

As  a  guide  to  that  infant's  spirit  thought  ; 
And  wondrous  visions  of  beauty  and  light 

To  the  ken  of  the  dreamer  were  swiftly  brought. 


THE  DREAM  OF  THE  FIRST  INFANT.     117 

In  dreams  through  many  a  beauteous  land, 
The  infant  and  angel  went  hand  in  hand, 
And  mountain  and  forest,  and  flood  and  shore, 
And  rivers  which  sparkled  with  golden  ore, 
And  wonders  of  sea,  and  of  earth  and  sky, 
Seemed  pictured  in  light  to  that  infant's  eye. 

Then  away  through  the  boundless  blue,  afar, 
Where  kindles  the  beam  of  the  farthest  star  ; 
Beyond  the  reach  of  the  tinted  ray 
Which  limits  the  realm  of  the  sun-god's  day, 
Away,  away,  seemed  the  wanderer's  flight, 
Till  the  gates  of  heaven  appeared  in  sight. 

"  Open  the  gates,"  did  the  angel  cry, 

"  I  come  with  a  spirit  that's  free  from  sin  ;" 

And  a  silv'ry  voice  said  in  kind  reply, 
"  The  pure  and  spotless  can  enter  in." 

The  gates  were  opened— the  seraphs  smiled 
On  that  lovely  angel-directed  child, 
But  the  highest  spirit  could  scarce  declare, 
The  countless  glories  that  centered  there. 
No  more  to  that  child  seemed  the  gems  of  earth 
Of  peerless  beauty,  and  priceless  worth, 
And  the  sea-born  pearls  and  the  stars  of  even 
Seemed  dust  when  compared  with  the  gems  of 
heaven. 


118     THE  DREAM  OF  THE  FIRST  INFANT. 

"  Such,"  said  the  angel,  "  thy  lot  shall  be— 
These  visions  of  glory  shall  e'er  remain, 

If  thy  spirit  in  infant  purity 

Be  kept  from  error's  polluting  stain. 

The  child  awoke  ;  and  its  mother's  eye 

Was  bright  with  a  lustrous  and  grateful  gleam, 

For  she  knew  that  the  angel  that  then  stood  by 
Had  guided  the  course  of  her  infant's  dream. 


ODE    TO    SPRING.  119 


ODE    TO    SPRING. 


HAIL  to  thee,  SPRING  I 
Again  thou  coniest  with  thy  chosen  sweets  ; 
Again  our  cheeks  thy  perfumed  breathing  greets 

While  birds,  on  wing, 
Tinted  with  iris-hues,  from  every  tree 
Are  hymning  choral  welcomes  unto  thee. 

Where  hast  thou  been, 
With  all  thy  fairy  ornature  of  green, 
Of  sunbeams  woven  by  a  hand  unseen  ? — 

Gathering  in 

The  life-seed  of  some  precious  floral  gem 
To  decorate  thy  queenly  diadem  ? 


Or,  haply,  thou 

Hast  been  a  wanderer  in  other  lands, 
To  cheer  up  those  whom  despot  Might  commands, 

And  teach  them  how 
To  gather  flow?rets  from  that  sacred  tree 
Which  gods  and  men  have  christened  "  LIBERTY  1" 


120  ODE   TO    SPRING. 

If  that  be  so, 

Let  blessings  on  thy  holy  mission  rest, 
And   Freedom's  spring-time  hopes,   within   each 
breast 

Be  made  to  grow, 
As  grows  the   bud  which   clasps  the   promised 

flower, 
Beneath  the  silent  magic  of  thy  power. 

Long  does  it  seem 

Since  thou  wast  here  before  in  all  thy  charms, 
But,  welcome  now,  as  to  a  lover's  arms, 

If  thou  canst  deem 
The  worship  of  a  spirit  such  as  mine, 
Worthy  of  aught  like  unto  thee,  divine  ! 

Familiar,  now, 

Let  us  hold  converse  of  thy  blissful  life, 
With  teeming  poesy  so  sweetly  rife, 

And  for  thy  brow, 

Of  thine  own  flowers,  if  thou'lt  grant  me  leave, 
A  simple  chaplet  I  will  strive  to  weave. 

Forgive  the  thought  ! 
No  bard  of  earth  can  e'er  expect  to  bring 
To  such  as  thou  a  welcome  offering, 

For,  heaven-taught, 
The  birds  to  thee  sing  far  diviner  lays, 
While  every  leaf  has  lyrics  in  thy  praise. 


ODE   TO    SPRING.  121 

Each  petal  tells, 

With  all  the  fragrant  eloquence  of  Truth, 
The  story  of  thy  never-fading  youth  ; 

While  fairy  bells 

Open  their  honied  lips  to  hymn  thy  fame 
In  words  too  pure  for  human  tongues  to  name. 

Circling  around 

The  changeful  surface  of  God's  footstool — Earth, 
Thou  giv'st  the  glories  of  the  garden  birth  ; 

And  o'er  the  ground, 

In  lowly  dale  and  by  the  mountain  stream, 
Are  flung  thy  gifts — pure  as  an  angeFs  dream. 

No  scorching  sun 

Of  summer  ever  burns  upon  thy  brow, 
For  thou  'rt  away  ere  Summer  comes,  and  thou, 

Perennial*  one  ! 

Canst  ne'er  know  Autumn's  "  sere  and  yellow  leaf," 
Or  Winter's  wailing  monody  of  grief. 

I  knew  a  maid, 

Fair,  almost,  as  thou  art,  who  used  to  cull 
The  blossoms  from  thy  bowers  at  evening's  lull, 

That-  she  might  braid 

*  The  critic  may,  perhaps,  object  to  the  term  "  Perennial," 
in  this  connection.  The  writer's  defence  is,  that  Spring — 
the  personified  Spring  of  Poesy — is  ever-existent ;  passing 
from  land  to  land,  she  has  always  flowers  beneath  her  feet 
and  perfume  in  her  breath,  and  in  our  own  "  Sunny  South  " 
she  may  be  said  continually  to  linger. 


122  ODE   TO    SPRING. 

Of  them,  a  wreath,  to  deck  her  virgin  brow — 
'Tis  scarce  a  year  ago — where  is  she  now  ? 

In  dreamless  sleep  ! — 
A  cheerless  chamber  in  the  silent  tomb  ! 
Corruption's  chosen  at  the  feast  of  Doom  ! 

Well  may  we  weep, 

When  that  stern  robber,  Death,  in  wasteful  glee, 
Can  lay  his  fleshless  hand  on  such  as  she. 

But  thou,  fair  Spring, 

Art  still  the  same  ;  as  beautiful  and  young 
As  when,  in  Eden's  bowers,  thy  praise  was  sung, 

On  angel's  wing, 

And  thy  fresh  floral  gifts  were  primal  blown 
Ere  on  Temptation's  tree  the  fruit  had  grown. 

0  !  welcome,  then, 

Thrice  welcome,  with  thy  zephyr  breath  of  balm, 
Thy  bud  and  blossom,  and  thy  branch  of  palm  ; 

And  when  again 

Thou  leav'st  us  in  thy  gay  and  glad  career, 
Bid  our  hopes  follow  round  thy  floral  year. 


LINES.  123 


LINES. 


[Written  on  the  death  of  an  aged  lady  of  Boston,  England, 
whose  last  words  were — "All  is  toe//."] 


SHE  lay  in  suffering — the  crimson  tide 
With  feeble  impulse,  sought  its  'customed 

flow; 
But  those  who  loved  her  still,  were  by  her  side, 

With  ready  hand,  determined  to  bestow 
Whatever  might  ease  a  pang,  or  be  supplied, 

To  sweeten  that  deep  cup,  which  all  below 
Must  drink,  to  sorrows  past,  before  they  stand 
'Mid  the  green  fields  of  the  celestial  land. 

And  willingly  she  drank  ; — her  fourscore  years 
Had  taken,  of  that  bitter  cup,  away 

Much  of  its  bitterness  ;  for  pains  and  tears 
Had  made  the  silver  chord  of  life  decay 

With  gradual  infirmity.     No  fears, 

Urged  her  to  wish  her  spirit's  longer  stay 

In  that  frail  tenement,  so  long  the  load 

Which  kept  it  from  its  heaven-gem'd  abode. 


124 


LINES. 


And  "  all  is  well,"  she  said,  with  latest  breath, 
And,  ALL  is  WELL  ! — how  sweetly  does  the  sound 

Come,  angel  voic'd — a  harbinger  of  death — 
From  those  to  the  unfading  Eden  bound  ! 

It  speaks  immortal  trust, — and  of  that  wreath 
Where  Faith  and  Hope,  in  sweet  embrace  are 
found 

Joined  to  that  pure  and  everlasting  Yine, 

Planted  by  Love,  where  suns  eternal  shine. 


FAREWELL.  125 


FAREWELL. 

HTpAEEWELL  !  O  sad  and  tender  word, 
JD       How  deep  thy  magic  spell ! 
For  friends,  in  cot  or  gilded  hall, 
'Tis  hard  to  say — Farewell ! 

Farewell — it  lingers  on  the  tongue, 
While  many  a  pleasing  dream 

Calls  up,  anew,  long-past  delights 
From  life's  uneven  stream. 

Farewell — what  pen  can  e'er  record — 

What  tongue  can  ever  tell, 
The  burning  thoughts  which  cluster  round 

That  magic  word — FAREWELL  ! 


12G  THE    FORSAKEN    OXE. 


THE    FORSAKEN   ONE.* 


SHE  grew  in  loveliness,  a  fair  young  thing, 
O'er  which  the  angels  seemed  their  smiles 

to  fling 

In  rich  profusion  ;  and  as  gentle,  she, 
As  the  light  breeze  which  wafts  from  Eden's  tree 
Undying  odors  through  the  breathing  air, 
To  bless  and  circulate  forever  there. 
And  as  she  grew  in  loveliness,  her  thought, 
By  Fancy's  bright  ideal  teachings  taught, 
Pictured  a  thousand  scenes  of  untold  bliss 
And  peopled  all  with  dreams  of  happiness. 


*  "  THE  FORSAKEN  ONE  "  is  no  imaginary  character.  The 
writer  became  acquainted  with  her  melancholy  history 
while  standing  beside  her  grave  in  Newfoundland,  where 
she  lived,  and  loved,  and  died !  She  is  said  to  have  been 
remarkably  beautiful  and  intellectual,  and  her  memory  will 
long  be  sacredly  cherished  by  the  fair  daughters  of  Terra 
Nova.  The  reason  why  she  was  so  heartlessly  forsaken, 
and  but  a  few  days  before  that  appointed  for  her  marriage, 
arose  from  sectarian  prejudices  fostered  in  the  mind  of  her 
lover  by  his  friends.  The  lines,  as  above,  were  hastily 
written  on  ship-board,  and  an  imperfect  copy  of  them  has 
already  appeared  in  print. 


THE    FORSAKEN    ONE.  127 

Her  heart  was  like  a  harp,  wooed  by  the  winds, 
And,  grateful  for  the  music  which  it  finds 
Trill  from  its  strings  in  sweetest  melody, 
Asks  not  the  wooers  if  they  ere  shall  flee. 
She  loved  her  relatives,  her  friends,  and  all 
The  flowers  that  bloom  at  Spring's  omnific  call ; 
She  loved  the  birds,  the  wilds,  the  purple  sea, 
The  stars  which  light  up  heaven's  immensity, 
The  regal  splendor  of  the  mid-day  sun, 
And  the  rich  glories,  when  his  course  is  run, 
Which  gild  the  curtains  of  the  glowing  West, 
To  decorate  his  couch  of  rosy  rest. 

But  one  there  was,  who  ever  used  to  seem, 
In  the  fond  trustings  of  young  passion's  dream, 
Brighter  and  fairer,  aye,  and  fonder  too, 
Than  all  beside  that  ever  met  her  view  ; 
His  many  faults  all  others  could  descry, 
Yet  faultless  still  he  stood  before  her  eye 
As  angels  are,  that  breathe  in  courts  above, 
An  atmosphere  of  worship  and  of  love. 
Though  every  friend  opposed,  she  loved  him  yet, 
And  still  believed  he  never  could  forget 
The  vows  and  promises  so  oft-times  made 
In  that  fair  bower,  in  whose  spangled  shade 
They've  sat,  time  after  time,  as  eve  stole  on, 
And  watched  "  Night's  silvery  queen  "  ascend  her 

throne, 

With  all  the  star-nymphs  that  attend  her  train, 
To  sing  the  wonders  of  the  blissful  reign. 


128  THE    FORSAKEN    ONE. 

Thus  have  they  sat,  the  loving  and  the  loved, 
And  if  a  zephyr  in  that  arbor  moved 
One  em'rald  gem,  one  flower  supporting  leaf, 
She'd  count  it  an  intruder,  and  a  thief, 
That  came  to  rob  her  ear,  she  knew  not  why, 
Of  its  fond  treasure — her  own  loved  one's  sigh. 

But  time  passed  on,  and  he,  the  loved,  became 
Careless  of  her,  her  off' rings  and  her  flame. 
The  treasures  of  her  love  were  prized  no  more  ; 
He  fled  !  and  all  her  happiness  was  o'er, 
Save  when  in  prayer  she  sought  heaven's  blissful 

shade, 
And    prayed   that    choicest  blessings  might   be 

made 

To  hover,  like  a  dream  of  light,  above 
The  future  footsteps  of  her  faithless  love. 


'Twas  winter,  and  the  frost-king  reared  his 

throne 

Where  meteor  lights  illumed  his  frozen  zone, 
While  his  chill  palace,  of  the  water-rock, 
Braved  the  rude  tempest  and   the   storm-waves 

shock. 

Cold  as  the  breathings  of  his  cheerless  court, 
Where   pleasure  never  wreathed    the   smiles  of 

sport, 

Were  all  the  smiles  of  all  the  world  to  her 
Who  would  her  faithless  love  to  all  prefer. 


THE   FORSAKEN   ONE.  129 

Spring  came  with  birds  and  flowers  :  she  fain 

would  take 

One  ramble  more  around  that  star-gemmed  lake 
Where  oft  with  him  she'd  roved  in  hours  of  joy, 
Ere  blighted  hopes  were  missioned  to  destroy. 
But,  ah  !  she  could  not,  for  in  health's  decay, 
A  frost  had  touched  the  blossoms  of  her  May. 
The  roses  on  her  cheek  were  seen  to  fade  ; 
The  fond  confidings  of  that  trusting  maid, 
So  cruelly  deceived,  could  ne'er  again 
Picture  a  scene  that  was  not  full  of  pain. 
Birds  sang,  and  flowerets  bloomed,  but  could  not 

bring 

The  virgin  freshness  of  love's  early  spring. 
To   her   young  mind    the  bloom  of   hope   was 

past, 

And  withered,  as  if  touched  by  that  death-blast 
Which  o'er  the  burning  desert  speeds  its  way, 
To  scatter  desolation  and  decay. 
Day  after  day  witnessed  her  health's  decline  ; 
Though    beauty    lingered    round    its    cherished 

shrine, 

And  yet  continued,  when  with  dying  breath 
She  welcomed  on  the  stern  approach  of  death  ! 
The  spoiler  grim,  beheld  with  envious  view 
The  little  love  had  left  him  there  to  do, 
And  when,  at  length,  he  threw  his  fated  dart, 
A  ray  of  pity  touched  his  bloodless  heart, 
To  see  her  so  resigned,  so  meek,  so  fair, — 
To  hear  the  breathings  of  her  latest  prayer, 


130  THE   FORSAKEN   OXE. 

For  when  the  lamp  of  life  was  waxing  dim, 
Forgetful  of  herself,  she  prayed  for  him, 
And  dead  to  all  beside,  she  still  was  heard, 
Breathing  his  name — a  fond  and  fatal  word  1 


THE   JOURNEY   OF  A   SIGH.  131 


THE  JOURNEY  OF  A  SIGH, 


A  SIGH  1  a  woman's  sigh  of  love, 
Was  borne  on  a  zephyr's  wing  ; 
To  the  bright  and  beauteous  courts  above, 
Where  unfading  flowerets  spring. 

An  angel  met  that  love-fraught  sigh, 
As  it  roamed  on  its  pinions  bright ; 

With  a  smile  of  promise,  he  asked  it — "  why 
It  had  entered  the  land  of  light  ?" 

"  I  come,"  its  peerless  spirit  said, 

"  As  the  whisper  of  love's  young  dream  ; 

From  my  earthly  home  I  have  fondly  fled 
To  where  lights  celestial  gleam  : 

And  pure  is  the  tale  of  love  I  bear, 
As  the  sheen  of  thine  own  bright  wing  ; 

For  the  love  is  pure,  and  the  lady  fair, 
Whose  whispers  of  soul  I  bring. 

For  her  I  ask  all  the  joys  of  earth, 

And  a  place  'mid  the  West,  in  Heaven  ;" 

And  the  angel  said — "  To  the  child  of  worth, 
Both,  both  shall  be  freely  given." 


132  A   VISION. 


A    VISION. 

I  had  a  dream  which  was  not  all  a  dream."—  BYRON. 


WAS  in  the  hush  of  midnight  —  Sorrow's  wail 
JL      Died  on  my  ear,  as  sleep  its  mystic  veil 
Threw  o'er  my  senses,  and  my  unchain'd  soul, 
Freed  from  terrestrial  bondage  and  control, 
Panted  for  fearless  flight.     Fancy  stood  by, 
"With  wild  adventurous  daring  in  her  eye  ; 
"  Dost  wish,"  said  she,  "  to  course,  on  burnish'd 

wing, 

The  perfumed  regions  of  unending  spring  ? 
To  triumph  over  space  —  from  star  to  star, 
To  roll,  majestic,  in  my  viewless  car  ? 
To  raise  the  spirits  of  the  earth  and  air  — 
The  stern,  the  dismal,  or  the  bright  and  fair  ? 
Or  trace  the  Future,  with  its  flux  of  years, 
Its   strifes,    its    triumphs,   and  -its    smiles    and 

tears  ? 

Or  wilt  thou  course  with  me  Time's  ether  track, 
On  his  own  wings  to  trace  his  pathway  back, 
And  view  the  wondrous  Past  —  its  dying  throes, 
Its  short-lived  pleasures,  and  its  ceaseless  woes  ?" 


A   VISION.  133 

"  I'd   see   the   Past/'  I  said  ;    "  with   strange 

delight, 
I'd  view   the   spot   where  Time  commenced  his 

flight ; 

I'd  sweep  the  spell  of  centuries  away — 
Catch  the  first  beam  which  lit  the  god  of  day — 
List  the  first  hymn  the  forest  warblers  sung — 
Trace    up   the    path    of   Time    since   Time   was 

young — 

His  every  record  read,  till  he  shall  be 
Lost  in  the  cycles  of  Eternity." 

This  said,  hours,  days,  weeks,  months  and  years 

unroll 

The  register  of  Time's  swift-written  scroll ; 
Ages  speed  back  in  retrograding  flight — 
The  Past  becomes  the  Present — thickest  night 
Hangs  round  in  sable  gloom  : — I  stood  before 
Time's  birth,  Day's  morn,  or  Ocean's  first  hoarse 

roar. 

A  voice  is  heard,  omnific  in  its  might — 
"  LET  THERE  BE  LIGHT  !"  it  said — and  all  was  light ! 
Earth's  beauties,  sparkling,  kiss  the  heaven-born 

rays, 

And  stars  and  angel-bands  chant  songs  of  praise  : 
Through  the  dark  clouds  of  chaos  quickly  shine 
Creation — order — harmony — design  1 
Life,  and  her  teeming  millions  stand  displayed — 
A  week  is  ended,  and  a  world  is  made  1 

But  here  one  spot  appears  most  purely  bright — 
The  home  of  love— the  garden  of  delight : 


134  A   VISION. 

Sweet  birth-place  of  Humanity  ! — is  this 

The  scene  which  fostered  earliest  dreams  of  bliss  ? — 

The   scene  where   Earth   her  first   fair   off'rings 

spread  ? 

Where  man,  delighted,  on  her  bounties  fed  ? 
Aye,  'tis  ! — and  Innocence  here  found  a  grave — 
Here  Disobedience  rolled  its  first  fell  wave — 
Hate,  Malice,  Strife  and  Envy  here  were  born, 
And  here  first  grew  the  bramble  and  the  thorn. 

Time  passes  onward — man  extends  his  race — 
Earth  marks  her  orbit  through  her  wilds  of  space  ; 
The  millions  plod  in  rounds  of  vice  and  pride, 
On  plain  and  valley,  hill  and  mountain  side  ; 
Their  thousand  wants  the  teeming  earth  supplies  ; 
In  thanklessness  they  grasp  the  varied  prize, 
Then  mock  Omnipotence — His  power  deride, — 
His  deluge  comes — they  sink  beneath  its  tide  ! 

One  dying  groan  with  horror  fills  my  ears  ! 
One  ocean-vested  plain  the  earth  appears, 
And  'neath  that  plain  is  hid  full  many  a  cave, 
Where  Art  and  Nature  find  one  common  grave. 
Dark  Desolation  reigns  :  I  look — Affright 
Spreads   tracts   of  waste    before   my  wand' ring 

sight — 

Of  watery  waste — a  wide,  wild  liquid  robe — 
The  grave  of  crime — the  vestment  of  a  globe  ! 

One  barque,  the  safe  retreat  of  life  and  rest, 
A  world  of  waters  bears  upon  its  breast  ; 
Alone  she  triumphs  o'er  th'  aquatic  tomb, 
A  world's  inhabitants  within  her  womb, — 


A   VISION.  185 

A  future  world — o'er  which  Heaven's  bow  of  love, 
In  lines  of  mercy  smiles  from  depths  above. 

Th'  avenging  wave  recedes :  Earth's  plains  again 
Are  peopled  by  the  toiling  sons  of  men  ; 
Age  after  age  arrays  its  flight  of  years — 
Man's  every  act  upon  their  page  appears, 
And  crime,  and  pain,  and  misery's  increase, 
Are  found  to  blend  with  virtue,  love  and  peace. 

Now  deeds,  unwritten,  catch  my  watchful  eye, 
But  Time  advances,  and  I  pass  them  by  : 
War  hurls    its    thunders ;    Earth's    broad   field 

appears 

One  moving  forest  of  contending  spears, — 
Death  cheers  his  angels  loud  with  groan  and  yell : 
But  stop  I  not  the  story  dire  to  tell, 
Of  him  who  conquered,  or  who  fell  below 
The  tiger-vengeance  of  the  foeman's  blow  ; 
For  War  but  feebly  treads  the  walks  of  death, 
Compared  with  him  who  fans  his  poison  breath  : 
Let  War  array  in  all  the  pomp  of  pride, 
His  giant-angels  by  thy  horrent  side, 
INTEMPERANCE,  and  pigmies  they  become — 
Their  every  tongue,  compared  with  thine,  is  dumb. 

Now  Fancy  waves  her  hand  before  my  sight  ; 
Earth  disappears  ; — a  region  richly  bright, 
Superlatively  lovely,  grand  and  fair, 
From  heaven's  four  corners  spans  the  depths  of 

air  : 

All  that  can  charm  the  eye  of  man,  or  please 
His  sense,  or  yield  him  happiness  or  ease, 


136  A   VISION. 

Are  here  profusely  scattered  :  Fragrance  brings 
Perfume  upon  the  zephyr's  playful  wings, 
From  many  a  spicy  grove,  whose  leaflets  sport 
Where  feathery  minstrels  hold  their  choral  court ; 
And  o'er  its  fertile  surface,  rivers  glide, 
And  milk  and  honey  swell  their  silv'ry  tide, 
And  on  their  banks  unnumber'd  flow'rets  blow, 
Their  beauties  mirror'd  on  the  streams  below. 

"  0  lovely  spot  I"  my  spirit  inly  cvied  ; 
"  Such  might  be  earth  1"  a  still,  small  voice  re 
plied  ; 

And  as  it  spoke,  a  bright  terrestrial  train 
Of  men  like  angels  course  th'  Elysian  plain. 

"  See'st  thou  yon  cloud  ?"  said  Fancy,  and  mine 

eye 

Sought  a  dark  spot  which  marked  the  Eastern  sky: 
It  grew,  and  spread  its  gloomy  wings  of  night, 
Which  might  the  shades  of  Erebus  affright, 
Until  its  woe-inspiring  shadows  fell 
On  that  bright  land,  and,  wonderful  to  tell, — 
Where  the  dark  shadow  threw  its  blackest  stain, 
A  fiery  river  coursed  the  fertile  plain. 
Dark  Desolation  marked  it,  for  it  drew 
The  only  sweets  from  every  plant  that  grew, 
And  turned  them  into  poison  ;  and  its  fumes 
Rose  on  the  winds,  and  revel'd  'inong  the  tombs. 
Man  breathed  the  sickly  odors,  and  a  vain 
And  wild  infatuation  filled  his  brain  : 
He  steeped  his  senses  in  the  burning  flood, 
Then  madly  cried  for  vengeance  and  for  blood. 


A   VISION.  13 1 

As  'mong  the  plants,  the  sweetest  most  com 
bined 

To  swell  the  demon  stream — among  mankind, 
The  bright,  the  noble,  and  the  gen'rous  most 
Were  lured  to  join  the  sense-drown'd  victim  host : 
And  first  the  social  were  induced  to  brave 
The  wild,  enchanting,  life-destroying  wave. 

Methinks  I  see  the  suff'ring  thousands  now, 
With  haggard  cheek,  and  wildly  pallid  brow, 
Whose  trembling  reason  scarcely  can  abide 
The  horrid  stenches  of  the  Stygian  tide  : 
Methinks  I  see  them  struggling  'gainst  the  force 
Which   sweeps    them    onward,   in  its  headlong 

course, 

To  gulfs  of  darkest  night — while  some  appear 
To  moan  their  fate  with  many  a  scalding  tear  ; 
On  these,  Delirium  breathes,  and,  night  and  day, 
Infuriate  demons  round  their  senses  play  ; 
Discord  unutterable  fills  their  ears, 
And  laughing  goblins  mock  them  with  their  jeers. 
Of  those,  deep  draughts  with  fury  fill  the  brain, 
And  loose  the  bands  which  hold  Destruction's  rein, 
To  madly  weave  the  blood-bespotted  wreath 
Of  direful  Murder  with  the  fangs  of  death  ! 
See  trembling  millions  tread  the  margin's  brink — 
Timid  they  stoop,  one  dang'rous  draught  to  drink: 
Habit  on  taste  its  trembling  tie  makes  fast — 
The  conscience-guarded  Rubicon  is  past  ; 
Tie  after  tie  destroys  each  power  to  save, 
And  prematurely  ope's  the  iusatiate's  grave  1 


138  A  VISION. 

O  Vault  of  Terror — shrine  of  Terror's  king  ! — 
The  drunkard's  grave  !     Could  I  the  tear-drops 

bring, 

Drawn  from  Affection's  eye  by  thy  chill  fear, 
A  woe-charged  flood  of  sorrows  would  appear  ! 
Or  could  I  list  the  orphan's  cheerless  cry, 
And  deep-toned  anguish  of  the  widow's  sigh, 
Which  thou  hast  known,  O,  then  would  Earth 

uustore, 

From  the  deep  treasures  of  its  storied  lore, 
Its  darkest  tale  of  grief,  whose  words  would  rise, 
To  wake  the  moaning  echoes  of  the  skies, 
While  stories  dire  of  crime  and  pain  would  be 
Housed  from  their  slumbers  in  the  mighty  sea  ! 

Now,  where  that  cloud  of  darkness  first  was  seen, 
A  star  of  glory  rose,  whose  peerless  sheen 
Smiled  with  an  angel  sweetness  o'er  the  plain 
Where  drunkenness  had  fixed  its  deadly  stain, 
And  rolled  along  its  desolating  wave, 
The  earth  to  poison  and  her  sous  enslave. 
And  as  that  star  in  brightness  rose,  its  light 
Dispelled  the  cloud  which  hung  round  Error's  night; 
Dried  up  the  stream  of  Death,  whose  poison  tide 
The  cups  of  sorrow,  and  of  crime  supplied  ; 
And  left  that  land,  in  comfort's  smiling  glow, 
With  verdure  crowned,  and  milk  and  honey's  flow. 
Its  storms  of  strife  were  lulled  ;  and  Peace  arose 
In  angel  triumphs  o'er  her  prostrate  foes, 
And  sweet  domestic  bliss  assumed  her  reign, 
And  Love  and  Joy  awoke  in  smiles  again. 


A    VISION.  139 

I  looked — and  Fancy's  wand  again  was  reared 
And  all  her  bright  creation  disappeared  ; 
That  land  was  lost — its  purifying  star 
No  longer  shone  from  ether  wilds,  afar — 
All,  all  was  changed  ;  and  strange  that  change 

did  seem, 
As  vision-painted  worlds  in  childhood's  dream. 

"  That  land,"  said  Fancy,  "just  to  chaos  hurled, 
Prophetic,  speaks  the  changes  of  a  world  ; 
Like  it,  this  world  was  lovely  once,  and  fair, — 
Like  it,  'twas  fostered  with  an  angel's  care, — >• 
Like  it,  its  brightness  faded,  and  its  charm 
Was  lost  for  vice,  for  madness  and  alarm ; 
And  like  it,  too,  'twill  change  once  more,  and  then 
Love's  lights  will  brighten  in  the  homes  of  men, 
And  linger,  dream-like,  round  the  hallow'd  spot 
Of  quiet  joy,  and  soul- delighting  thought ! 
Elest  be  that  change!  unmixed  with  grief  and  guile; 
And  blest  the  rainbow  promise  of  its  smile, 
Which,  Like  the  iris,  with  its  changeful  dye, 
Bends  from  the  earth,  and  centres  in  the  sky  ! 
Blest  be  that  harbinger  of  happier  years  ! 
That  ark  of  safety  o'er  a  sea  of  tears  ! 
Where  Happiness  enjoys  a  calm  retreat, 
When  Sorrow's  surges  round  her  madly  beat." 

Again  I  looked  : — before  my  anxious  eye, 
The  circling  flight  of  years  swept  swiftly  by  ; 
Earth  and  earth's  scenes  rolled  on  their  changeful 

round, 
And  busy  life  gave  forth  its  ceaseless  sound. 


140  A   VISION. 

War  and  Ambition  bartered  human  blood  ! 
And  Human  Honor  drank  the  purple  flood  ! 
Wing'd  Commerce  triumphed  o'er  the  briny  seas, 
And  wrote  her  mottoes  on  the  viewless  breeze  ; 
Faction  contended  in  the  courts  of  strife, 
And  Schism  spurned  the  laws  of  holy  life  : 
Still,  to  each  ill,  INTEMP'RANCE  gave  its  store, 
And  made  all  evils  greater  than  before. 

And  thus  it  was  till  TEMPERANCE  arose, 
In  panoply  of  brightness,  o'er  the  foes 
Of  life's  enjoyment,  and  her  woeless  chain 
Of  sympathy  embraced  each  child  of  pain. 
She  rose  in  loveliness,  a  seraph-smile 
Around  her  looks  of  kindness  played  the  while  : 
Her  victories  were  friendly,  and  her  hand, 
Strewed  blessings  freely  o'er  each  conquer'd  land, 
And  gave  that  bliss  she  could  alone  bestow, — 
A  bliss  Debauch  and  Crime  can  never  know. 

Still  Time  moves  onward,  and  anon  appears, 
In  vision  bright,  the  roll  of  future  years  : 
Earth  in  her  age  grew  glorious  to  my  sight, 
In  the  clear  lustre  of  Millennial  light ; 
And  0  I  'twas  joy  her  radiant  form  to  trace  ! 
A  beauteous  Island  in  the  sea  of  space, 
O'er  which  a  world  of  bloom  profusely  springs, 
To  deck  a  footstool  for  the  King  of  kings  ! 

But  not  alone  the  flowery  plain  appears, 
In  hues  still  brighter  than  in  by-gone  years  ; 
Blending,  in  loveliness,  terrestrial  dyes 
With  colors,  uncreated,  from  the  skies  ; 


A   VISION.  141 

A  bloom  of  mind — a  moral  bloom  is  seen, 
Which  smiles,  on  earth,  with  more  than  earthly 

sheen, 

And  gives  a  joy  to  man  unknown  before, 
Scented  with  odors  from  a  holier  shore  ; 
Minds  now  expanded,  breathe  the  foretaste  given 
Of  sweetest  fragrance  from  the  fields  of  heaven  ; 
And  with  new  tongues  of  seraph-power  they  raise 
The  loudest  notes  of  thankfulness  and  praise. 

0  blest  Devotion  !  now  art  thou  divine  ! 
Circled  with  gems  which  must  forever  shine  ; 
Swelling  the  notes  of  harmony  and  love, 
Which  rise  like  incense  to  the  throne  above. 
And  man,  the  creature  of  the  dust,  is  blest — 
Bliss,  unalloyed,  is  kindled  in  his  breast  ; 
And  Peace,  on  dove-like  pinions,  hovers  round — 
For  Strife,  with  all  his  demon-wiles,  is  bound, 
That  Innocence  o'er  man  her  robe  may  fling, 
As  pure  and  spotless  as  an  angel's  wing. 
Dazzled  with  brightness,  now  my  eye  grew  dim, 
As  Earth  reflected  back  the  lights  of  Him, 
The  First,  the   Last,  the   Midst,   and   Without 

End! 

Whose  glories  with  his  works  forever  blend. 
Faint  was  my  view  till  the  last  angel  came, 
And  Earth  was  rolled  up  as  a  scroll  of  flame  ; 
Time  yielded  up  his  pinions  with  his  breath, 
And  Yictory  rose  triumphant  over  Death — 
A  holy  pioneer,  to  pave  the  way 
To  the  bright  gates  of  uncreated  day  ! 


142  A  visiox. 

As  time  gave  up  his  wings,  my  dream  was  o'er  ; 
But  ere  'twas  done,  a  fair  celestial  shore, 
In  more  than  Eden-loveliness  appeared, 
On  which  a  holy  cenotaph  was  reared, 
The  work  of  angel  bands,  who  joyed  to  raise 
An  ever-during  monument  of  praise 
"  To  TEMPERANCE," — for  so  the  record  ran, — 
"  Tlw  Child  of  Virtue,  and  the  Friend  of  Man!" 

And  now,  the  spell  which  bound  my  senses 

broke — 
Earth  seemed  herself  again,  and  I  awoke. 


SONG   OF   THE    NEW   YEAR.  143 


SONG  OF  THE  NEW  YEAR. 

[January  1st,  1851.] 

AWAY  have  the  days  of  another  year 
By  the  angel  of  Time  been  cast, 
To  record  the  tale  of  their  fleet  career, 

'Mid  the  depths  of  the  changeless  Past. 
And  away,  away,  as  the  moments  sped, 

Fall  many  a  hope  and  fear 
Were  buried  in  dust  'neath  the  death-fiend's 

tread, 
Ere  the  birth  of  the  new-born  year. 


But  not  alone  in  the  ma^ch  of  Time, 

As  he  measured  his  ceaseless  round, 
Were  the  death  of  hope  and  the  growth  of  crime, 

And  the  spear  of  the  spoiler  found  : 
For  joy  was  the  gift  of  the  gay  old  year, 

When  his  days  into  season's  grew, 
And  the  flowers  of  Spring  and  the  harvest's  cheer 

Did  his  garland  and  crown  renew. 


144         SONG  OF  THE  NEW  YEAR. 

And  joy  was  Ms  when  the  laughing  hours 

Were  breathing  of  Love's  perfume, 
As  they  lingered  in  bliss  mid  the  roseate  bowers, 

Which  Affection's  lights  illume  ; 
And  joy  was  his,  as  he  chased  away 

Disease  from  the  fevered  brain, 
And  gave,  in  exchange,  life's  wonted  play, 

For  the  gnawing  tooth  of  pain. 

But  mixed  and  strange  is  the  tale  of  Time, 

As  he  telleth  it,  page  by  page, 
Melodious  now,  in  mused  rhyme, 

And  fearful  now  with  rage  : 
Sometimes  his  words  are  soft  and  sweet 

As  the  Zephyr's  fragrant  breath, 
And  sometimes  thunder-toned — and  meet 

To  tell  of  thy  triumphs,  Death. 

Now  does  he  visit  the  Congress  hall, 

With  a  look  all  staid  and  wise, 
And  tracing  his  cyphers  along  the  wall, 

He  frameth  the  "  Compromise" — 
And  forth  he  sendeth  it  far  and  wide, 

And  sweareth  by  yea  and  nay, 
That  by  it  the  North  and  the  South  shall  abide, 

And  the  UNIOX  shall  last  for  aye. 

But  not  on  Senates  alone  looks  Time, 

For  he  circles  the  ends  of  earth, 
From  the  Arctic  wilds  to  the  burning  clime, 

Where  the  Alchemist's  dream  hath  birth  ; 


SONG   OF   THE   NEW   YEAR.  145 

He  looks  on  the  delver's  toil-marked  hands, 

As  by  Sacramento's  wave 
They  are  plied  full  well,  mid  the  glittering  sands 

To  dig  out  a  golden  grave. 

Again  he  looks  on  a  martial  band  ; 

And  the  fiery  sons  of  Mars 
Are  away  o'er  the  deep  ;  for  their  chiefs  have 
planned 

That  the  spangled  Banner  of  Stars 
Shall  invite  to  its  folds,  with  shot  and  song, 

The  "  Gem  of  the  Antilles," 
While  Freedom's  voice  shall  the  shout  prolong 

In  the  swell  of  the  Carib  seas. 

Another  sound  ! — and  the  gay  old  Time 

Half  ceaseth  his  onward  march  ; 
For  melodious  whispers,  which  seem  divine, 

Ascend  on  a  heavenly  arch 
To  greet  his  ear  with  a  blissful  strain 

Of  mercy  and  mdody — 
A  blessed,  beautiful,  angel  twain, 

By  the  "  Swedish  bird  "  set  free. 

****** 
****** 


146  IMPROMPTU. 


IMPROMPTU. 

[Written  on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio  when  a  financial  panic 
was  agitating  the  whole  country.] 


T  STOOD  upon  a  river's  bank, 


Beneath  the  white-armed  pride 
Of  ladies  ?  no — of  lofty  sycamores  ; 
And  as  I  stood  upon  that  bank  in  lonely  grief,  I 

cried, 
A  laughing  echo  to  my  lay,  "  the  lank  has  broke  " 

replied, 
"  And  fortune  has  locked  up  her  golden  doors." 


I   REMEMBER   THEE.  147 


I    REMEMBER,    THEE. 


TO 


~T"TT~HEN  the  morning  sun,  with  a  silver  tread, 
V  V       Ascends  in  the  East  from  his  ocean-bed, 
When  light  and  joy  from  the  presence  spring 
Of  that  mystic  orb,  which  Creation's  King 
Has  placed  in  his  hall  of  clouds  to  sway 
The  seasons  of  earth  with  supernal  ray, 
And  sunshine  smiles  on  the  land  and  sea, 
Then,  then,  O  then,  I  remember  thee  ! 

When  the  midday  comes,  and  the  noontide  beam, 
Plays  in  joyous  glee  over  wave  and  stream, 
And  the  lowly  vale  and  the  mountain  glade 
Are  in  vestments  of  love  and  of  light  arrayed  ; 
Then,  then,  'mid  the  glory  of  midday  sheen, 
In  the  true  and  the  beautiful  thou  art  seen  ; 
When  I  look  on  the  fair,  and  the  pure  and  free, 
O  then,  O  then,  I  remember  thee  ! 

When  the  eve  appears  and  the  daylight  hies 
To  his  rosy  couch  in  the  Western  skies, 
And  the  starry  gems  in  "  the  blue  "  are  seen, 
As  the  jewel'd  path  of  Night's  silv'ry  queen, 


148  I    REMEMBER   THEE. 

0  then,  when  the  song  of  the  grove  is  still, 
And  the  music  alone  of  the  trickling  rill 
Is  heard  as  it  steals  through  the  quiet  lea, 

1  remember  thee,  I  remember  thee  ! 

When  the  visions  of  night  burst  on  my  brain 
With  the  wild  delights  of  a  fairy  train  ; 
When  an  eye  which  can  make  niy  soul  rejoice, 
And  the  melting  tones  of  a  seraph  voice 
Are  seen  and  heard,  and  so  much  like  thine, 
That  a  phantom  form,  like  to  thee,  divine, 
Appears,  an  angel  of  purity, 
To  claim  them,  then,  I  remember  thee  ! 


LINES.  149 


LINES. 

[To  the  memory  of  the  Rev.  D.  A.  Eraser,  A.  M.,  who  died 
at  St.  John's,  Newfoundland,  in  February,  1845.] 

HE'S  passed  away  to  where  "the  weary  rest," 
,     The  frozen  clod  lies  coldly  o'er  his  breast; 
Vacant  is  now  the  place  he  once  supplied, 
As  husband,  father,  pastor,  friend  and  guide. 

He's  passed  away — the  sacred  desk  no  more 
Shall  echo  to  his  teachings  as  before  ; 
No  more  he'll  train  for  heaven's  bright  courts  above, 
His  weeping  charge,  the  children  of  his  love. 

He's  passed  from  earth,  for  evermore  to  be 
Decked  in  the  robes  of  immortality  ; 
Still  for  his  flock  full  many  a  hallow'd  deed 
In  odor-sweets  from  golden  censers  plead. 

He's  passed  away — his  soul-directing  light 
Has  set  within  the  tomb's  unconscious  night  ; 
He's  passed  to  realms  by  saints  and  angels  trod — 
Passed  from  the  footstool  of  the  throne  of  God. 


150  LINES. 


LINES. 


H 


TO 


OW  sweet  is  Friendship's  angel  breath, 

Perfumed  by  flowers  of  living  love  ; 
How  fair  its  ever-during  wreath, 

Plucked  in  Affection's  scented  grove ; 
How  deep  the  dream  of  priceless  worth 
To  which  they  e'er  the  soul  incline — 
That  breath,  that  wreath,  of  all  on  earth,  arc 

yours, 
And  0,  that  dream  is  mine  ! 


^INES.  151 


LINES. 

[Addressed  to  a  traveling  companion  when  separating  from 
him  in  Kentucky  in  the  year  184-] 

ABOVE  the  broad  Ohio's  limpid  stream, 
On  banks  which  kiss  the  morning's  misty 

cloud 

We  sit,  with  tearful  eye  and  anxious  ear 
To  list  the  tolling  bell  and  heaving  sweep 
Which  speak  the  lab'ring  steamer,  as  adown 
To  Southern  markets,  laden  with  the  hopes 
And  various  produce  of  these  Western  wilds 
She  onward  moves. 

We  sit,  we  list,  we  weep — to-day  we  part 
To  breast  alone  the  ocean-waves  of  care. 
Eocked  in  the  storm-tost  cradle  of  the  past 
We've  dreamed  together  a  fond  morning  dream, 
While  Hope  still  spread  out  its  delusive  chart 
To  point  the  hills  of  Fame,  whose  mystic  front 
Rose  up  in  golden  grandeur,  and  enlarged 
By  Fancy's  wild  and  dreamy  telescope, 
Immortal  seemed. 

But  now  our  dreams  are  o'er,  and  Memory 
Becomes  the  sepulchre,  from  which  alone 


152  LINES. 

The  shadowy  ghosts  of  our  departed  hopes 

Will  rise,  commingled  with  the  scenes  and  thoughts 

And  fairy  palaces  which  Fancy  built 

Upon  the  airy  heights  and  changing  sands 

Of  that  wild  Isthmus  which  alone  connects 

"  The  Past  and  Future — two  Eternities" — 

And  rolls  the  Present  back  upon  the  Past. 

We've  met,  and  now  we  part — to  meet  again  ! 
But  whether  on  the  treacherous  shores  of  Time, 
Or  in  the  regions  of  a  world  unknown 
We  cannot  tell :  but  yet,  not  Lethe's  stream, 
Nor  time,  nor  care,  nor  dark  disease,  nor  death 
Shall  blot  remembrance  from  the  cherished  page 
Of  thoughts,  the  record  of  the  things  that  were. 

Bright  be  tby  scenes  in  future  life — thy  path 
With  rich  perfumes  of  innocence  and  peace 
Be  rendered  pleasant !    And  may  angels  guard 
Thee  and  the  fair  one  plighted  to  be  thine  ! 


THE   GREEK   SLAVE.  153 


THE   GREEK   SLATE. 


[The  following  lines  were  written  on  looking  at  that  cele- 
Jbrated  piece  of  Statuary  in  which  Powers  has  combined  the 
perfection  of  human  shape  with  the  emotions  of  a  captive 
maid  exposed  for  sale  in  a  Turkish  Slave  Market.  "  The 
cross  and  locket  seen  in  the  folds  of  her  drapery  show  her 
to  be  a  Christian  and  beloved."] 


TORN  from  the  charms  of  home,  a  slave  she 
stands, 

And  nude,  to  charm  the  Moslem's  lustful  eye  ; 
Fair  as  the  fairest  of  the  Houri  bands 
That  breathe  delight  in  his  Elysian  sky. 


Alone  she  stands,  and  with  averted  glance  : 
Her  gentle  thoughts  go  back  to  other  days, 

And  kindle  in  her  soul  a  holy  trance, 
Pure  as  the  light  from  uncreated  rays. 


The  Turk  appears — he  seeks  a  youthful  fair, 
His  passion's  treasure  and  perfection's  prize  ; 

But  all  subdued  by  virtue's  peerless  air, 
Worship,  not  passion,  kindles  in  his  eyes. 


154  THE   GREEK   SLAVE, 

That  youthful  maiden's  half  disdainful  glance — • 
That  meek  imploring  look,  that  modest  charm, 

That  Christian  calmness  check  the  rude  advance, 
And  save  the  maiden  from  impending  harm. 

Beauty  has  triumphed  there,  for  Virtue's  soul 
Has  cast  its  charm  o'er  that  expressive  face, 

"While  Genius  lent  its  spirit's  high  control, 
To  mould  the  shield  of  a  protective  grace. 


0,  THINK   NOT  THAT   I   DO    NOT   FEEL  !          155 


0,  THINK  NOT  THAT  I  DO  NOT  FEEL  ! 


[In  the  spring  of  18 — ,  a  brother  of  the  author's  was 
drowned  in  Wallace  River.  Nova  Scotia,  leaving  a  beloved 
wife  and  one  child,  a  little  girl  about  eight  years  old.  After 
the  accident  it  was  observed  that  the  child  did  not  cry,  and 
her  mother,  half  chidingly,  asked  her  the  reason.  Her 
answer  was,  "  I  feel  as  much  as  any  of  you  can  feel,  and  yet 
— 1  cannot  en//"] 

O  THINK  not  that  I  do  not  feel 
Because  I  cannot  cry  ! 
There  is  a  grief  which  may  congeal 

The  moisture  of  the  eye  ; 
A  grief  so  deep  that  it  can  chill 

The  fountains  of  the  soul, 
And  freeze  the  gushings  of  that  rill 
Which  laves  life's  golden  bowl. 

I  feel  that  there  was  once  a  smile 

For  me,  which  is  no  more, 
And  fairy  visions  nurst  the  while, 

Which  visions  now  are  o'er  1 
I  feel  that  there  was  once  a  hand 

To  clasp  me  to  a  breast, 
Now,  cold  and  lifeless,  in  that  land 

Where  all  the  weary  rest. 


156         0,  THINK   NOT  THAT   I   DO   NOT   FEEL  ! 

I  feel  that — oh  !  too  much  I  feel ! — 

And  tears  would  bring  relief, 
For  every  trickling  sphere  would  steal 

A  portion  of  my  grief. 
Though  tearless,  think  not  I  the  less 

Do  feel  the  weight  of  gloom, 
For  Sorrow,  with  its  rude  caress, 

Hath  made  my  heart  its  tomb  ! 


NOTHING   TO    EAT. 


NOTHING  TO  EAT. 

NOTHING-  to  eat  I   'tis  the  wailing  cry 
That  starvelings  utter  in  deep  despair, 
When  they  stretch  themselves  in  pain  to  die, 

All  lost  to  hope  ;  too  weak  for  prayer. 
Nothing  to  eat !  the  chainless  mind 
In  famine  becomes  confused  and  blind  ; 
A  thousand  phantoms  before  it  rise, 
Mocking  it  still  with  taunting  cries  ; 
Luring  it  off  where  the  demons  reign  ; 
Every  change  is  a  change  of  pain  ; 
Still  in  its  madness  it  will  repeat — 
Nothing  to  eat  !  Nothing  to  eat ! 

Who  will  tell  us  of  "Nothing  to  Wear"— 
The  gilded  falsehood  of  Fashion's  queen — 

Of  "  Nothing  to  do  "— "  to  say  "— "  to  spare  "- 
They're  all  as  naught  to  the  cry,  I  ween, 

Which  starving  ones  in  their  pain  repeat — 

Nothing  to  eat  !     Nothing  to  eat  ! 

In  a  lonely  garret  a  mother  lies  : 
Draw  near,  and  look  at  those  fearful  eyes — 
They  were  Beauty's  once  !     Those  lips  so  pale 
And  those  sunken  cheeks  tell  a  mournful  tale 


158  NOTHING   TO    EAT. 

Of  the  change  which  hunger  aud  care  can  bring 
When  they  prey  on  the  fair  with  united  sting. 
That  starving  mother  and  starving  child  ! — 
They  are  dying  now — how  strange  and  wild 
Are  their  every  look  !    Bring  bread  and  wine  ! 
Come,  lonely  mother,  arouse  and  dine  ! — 
Ah  !  they're  brought  too  late  from  the  board  of 

wealth 

To  bring  back  that  mother  to  hope  and  health  ! 
Though  she  seems  to  feast  with  her  fearful  eyes  ; 

As  if  she  fain  would  again  be  strong  ; 
That  bread  and  wine  are  a  tempting  prize 

To  one  with  nothing  to  eat  so  loug. 

Alone  a  maiden  is  on  the  street, 

A  poor,  a  friendless,  a  homeless  one  : 

The  freezing  wind  and  blinding  sleet 
Career  like  anger  at  set  of  sun. 

Where  shall  she  go  ?     Ah  !  who  can  tell  ? 

Hunger  and  pride  in  her  thoughts  rebel. 

How  hard  it  is  to  restrain  her  pride — 

How  hard  to  ask  and  to  be  denied  ! 

Thousands  around  her  have  wealth  untold, 

Treasures  of  silver  and  treasures  of  gold, 

While  thousands  like  her  have  nothing  to  eat, 

Starving  in  garrets  or  on  the  street. 

The  rich  pass  on  without  thought  or  care, 

And  if  alms  are  asked  they've  nothing  to  spare  : 

They  can  spare  to  folly,  can  spare  to  pride, 

Can  spare  to  fashion,  but  woe  betide 


NOTHING  TO   EAT.  159 

The  hungry  beings  who  dare  entreat, 
Because,  forsooth,  they've  nothing  to  eat. 
So  the  rich  pass  on  to  some  gilded  show, 
They've  nothing  to  spare  to  the  poor  and  low. 

Alone  a  maiden  is  on  the  street, 

A  poor,  a  friendless,  a  homeless  one  ; 
In  the  freezing  wind  and  the  blinding  sleet, 

She  asks  herself  what  shall  be  done  ? 
With  beauty  and  virtue  her  only  store  ; 

She  ponders  of  them  as  she  treads  alone 
From  street  to  street,  and  from  door  to  door  : 

She  has  "  asked  for  bread  and  received  a  stone." 
What  shall  be  done  ?     What  shall  be  done  ? 
Ah  !  poor  and  lonely  and  friendless  one  ! 
Shall  we  judge  thee  harshly  when  hunger  pleads, 

And  hope  has  proved  a  deceitful  tale, 
If  thy  answer  be  given  in  evil  deeds, 

When  evil  deeds  can  alone  avail  ? 

Come,  stately  queen  of  the  marble  hall, 
Pride  of  a  "  circle,"  belle  of  the  ball  • 
A  stranger  to  even  a  single  care, 
With  costly  raiment  and  jewels  rare, 
And  more  than  enough  to  eat  and  weai% 
Thou  must  have  a  tender  heart  indeed  ; 

An  open  hand  when  the  hungry  call  ; 
A  willing  ear  when  the  helpless  plead, 

And  love  for  thy  fellow  creatures  all. 
Yet  why  didst  thou  spurn  from  thy  marble  hall 


160  NOTHING   TO    EAT. 


The  starving  maiden  that  asked  for  bread  ? 
That  act  of  thine  was  a  deed  of  thrall  ; 

It  ended  hope  and  to  ruin  led  ! 
To  whom  should  a  maid  in  distress  appeal, 
If  a  sister's  heart  prove  hard  as  steel — 
If  a  sister's  voice  can  bid  her  go, 
All  reckless  of  ruin  or  woman's  woe, 
And  call  her  unjustly  in  words  of  shame, 
A  thing  of  evil  too  vile  to  name  ? 

Ah  !  when  thus  branded  and  coldly  spurned, 
Is  it  strange  that  the  maiden  in  madness  turned, 
Asa  last  resource  to  the  vile  and  rude, 
And  bartered  her  virtue — her  all — for  food  ? 

Come,  stately  queen  of  the  marble  hall, 

If  angels  are  glad  when  the  vile  reform, 
Should'st  thou  take  part  in  a  sister's  fall 

By  driving  her  forth  in  a  night  of  storm  ? 
Remember  that  thousands  as  fair,  as  proud, 
And  as  pure  as  thou,  have  weakly  bowed, 
Like  erring  frailties,  at  Passion's  shrine — 
Have  tasted  its  manna  and  drunk  its  wine, 
With  no  excuse  but  a  wanton  will 

To  lead  them  in  error's  corrupting  way  ; 
They  yield,  but,  in  yielding,  make  efforts  still 

To  hide  their  deeds  from  the  light  of  day. 

Nothing  to  eat  !  'tis  the  fearful  cry 

Of  wild,  united,  half  frantic  men 
Who  throng  the  streets.    The  sound  swells  high — 

Nothing  to  eat ! — again  ! — again  ! 


NOTHING   TO    EAT.  161 

What  means  it  ?    These  are  the  men  of  toil — 
Why  do  they  riot  and  cry  for  spoil  ? 
Why  do  they  batter  the  storehouse  down, 
And  scatter  abroad  through  the  hungry  town 
The  unbought  food  which  in  frantic  might 
They  wrest  by  force,  without  thought  of  right  ? 
It  is — that  Toil  is  no  more  repaid 
By  perishing  food  in  the  marts  of  trade  ; 
That  men  are  starving  ;  that  children  moan  ; 
That  hunger  is  stronger  than  walls  of  stone. 
They  are  starving  fathers  who  throng  the  street ; 
Their  wives  and  children  have  nothing  to  eat ! 


Nothing  to  eat  !  'tis  the  burning  thought 

Of  shipwrecked  men  on  the  ocean  wave  ; 
Their  foundered  vessel  the  depths  has  sought, 

And  still  around  them  the  waters  rave. 
A  crazy  raft  is  their  sole  support  ; 

Hunger  increases  as  hope  decays  ; 
The  gull  sweeps  round  them  as  if  in  sport, 

And  nearer  and  nearer  the  dolphin  plays. 

Thus  has  it  been  for  days  and  days  : 
Their  cheeks  are  sunken,  their  eyes  are  wild, 

Relief  is  distant,  and  famine  preys 
With  increasing  pang.     Ah  !  one  has  smiled — 
For  him  the  sorrows  of  life  are  past ; 
The  wail  of  the  sea,  the  sigh  of  the  blast, 
No  more  are  heard.     His  nerves  no  more 
Shrink  back  in  torture.     A  fairer  shore 


162  NOTHING   TO    EAT. 

Than  earth  can  boast,  like  a  dream,  is  spread 
In  the  airy  realms  where  the  seraphs  tread. 
Oh  !  it  were  bliss  on  such  shores  to  stray, 
And  angels  whisper — "  Away  !  away  I" 

Another  mutters  of  nothing  to  eat, 

And  stares  at  his  fellows  with  wolfish  eyes  : 

His  thoughts  are  fiends,  which  would  fain  entreat 
For  human  flesh  when  a  comrade  dies. 

He  curses  himself — his  God.     He  raves 

At  the  warring  winds  and  the  warring  waves  ; 

He  curses  his  fellows,  as  if  they  viewed 

In  him  a  beast,  to  be  slain  for  food  ; 

Then  leaps  in  the  flood,  like  a  demon  grim, 

And  swears  none  ever  shall  feast  on  him. 

More  calmly  others  await  their  doom, 

Though  every  day  makes  their  number  less  : 
A  moment  seems  like  an  age  of  gloom, 

With  such  surroundings,  in  such  distress. 
At  length  a  hurricane  sweeps  the  main  : 

They  sink  ;  but  still  in  their  thoughts  repeat 
The  echoes  lone  of  that  sad  refrain — 

"  Nothing  to  eat !     Nothing  to  eat !" 

NEW  ORLEANS,  October,  18 j 7. 


THE   WAYS  OF  .CHRISTENDOM,  163 


THE  WAYS- OF  CHRISTENDOM. 


A  translation  from  the  Japanese  of  Kram  Yengib. 


[Our  readers  will  remember  that  a  few  natives  of  Japan 
were  brought  to  this  country  by  the  Japan  expedition  sent 
out  some  years  since  by  the  United  States  Government. 
One  of  them,  Kram  Yengib,  has  since  returned  to  his  native 
land  and  published  a  satirical  poem  on  the  Church,  the  Go 
vernment,  and  the  social  condition  of  Christendom.  The 
following  is  a  translation :] 


INTRODUCTION. 

me,  O,  my  lovely  native  isle, 
JD       Fair  Crescent  gem  set  in  the  em'rald  sea,* 
For  I  have  wandered  out  beyond  thy  smile, 

And  would  return,  a  suppliant,  to  thee  : 
Forgive  me,  if  thou  can'st,  arid  I  shall  be 

No  more  an  exile  in  barbaric  lands, 

*Nipon,the  principal  island  of  Japan,  the  birthplace  of 
Yengib,  is  semi-lunar  in  shape,  and  as  the  sea  around  it  is 
shallow,  its  color  of  course  is  green.  The  sea  is  blue  only 
where  its  depth  is  very  great. 


164  THE    WAYS    OF   CHRISTENDOM. 

Where  warring  Christians  ever  disagree, 

And  Might  the  majesty  of  Right  withstands, 
And  Wealth  exemption  claims  from  Law's  most 
stern  commands. 

My  crime  was  great — a  wish  to  wander  forth — 

"My  punishment  is  more  than  I  can  bear  :" 
From  the  far  West  unto  the  frozen  North 

I've  passed — a  dreary  pilgrimage — to  share 
"With  Christian  dogs  in  their  unholy  fare 

Of  bullock's  flesh,  and  other  vile  compounds  ; 
To  witness  villanies  'twere  sin  to  spare, 

And  listen  to  those  senseless,  soulless  sounds 
That  Christians  worship  call — a  worship  which 
confounds. 

But  I  will  sing  of  all  that  I  have  seen, 
So  that  no  more  a  heav'n  blessed  Japanese 

May  wish  to  wander  forth  where  I  have  been, 
And  tempt  the  fury  of  accursed  seas 
With  sinful  hopes  of  happiness  and  ease — 

Hopes,  baseless,  as  they  stretch  beyond  the  isles 
Protected  by  our  prophet's  high  decrees — 

Who  can  expect  Religion's  holy  smiles 

When  wandering  over  lands  which  Christian  faith 
defiles  ? 


THE   WAYS   OF   CHRISTENDOM.  165 

I. 
THE     CHURCH. 

First,  of  the  Church.  Great  Buddha !  now  inspire 
My  pen  of  steel  with  true  poetic  fire, 
So  that  it  may  with  faithful  skill  reveal 
The  monster  curse,  which  on  the  public  weal 
Weighs  like  an  incubus — assuming  still 
A  thousand  shapes  to  work  its  ends  of  ill. 
The  Church  1  Religion  !  these  are  magic  words, 
Li  Christian  mouths,  and  forth  they  fly,  as  birds, 
Blue-winged  and  bound  to  heaven — but  in  their 

train 
Are  raven-croakings  and  the  lust  of  gain  ! 

All  from  one  Book  their  various  teachings  draw, 
And  all  acknowledge  the  same  moral  law  ; 
Yet,  in  their  creeds  they  strangely  disagree, 
And  as  they  bend  in  prayer  the  pliant  knee, 
A  curse  is  hurled  at  each  opposing  creed, 
And  Vengeance  vows  that  heretics  should  bleed. 


o 


Of  leading  tenets,  held  as  orthodox, 
Some  we  may  mention  as  the  sacred  rocks 
On  which  the  creeds  of  Christendom  are  based  : 
These  are — one  God,  or  three  in  one  embraced  ; 
One  Devil,  with  a  countless  demon-train  ; 
Immortal  life — which  may  prove  loss  or  gain  ; 


166  THE   WAYS    OF   CHRISTENDOM. 

The  eating  of  an  apple  from  a  tree, 
And  its  result — complete  depravity ; 
One  Heaven,  the  refuge  of  a  chosen  few  ; 
One  Hell,  the  birthright  of  that  damned  crew, 
The  many,  who  must  writhe  for  endless  ages 
In  burning  sulphur  lakes,  predestined  wages 
For  being  "  born  in  sin  "  without  their  knowledge, 
And  for  neglecting  to  attend  the  college 
Where  Grace  imparts  its  lessons  of  repentance, 
Which  can  alone  avert  the  "  dreadful  sentence." 

On  these  foundation  stones  strange  structures 

rise, 

Whose  spires  are  pointing  proudly  to  the  skies  ; 
Each  one  proclaims  itself  the  only  "  true," 
And  vainly  boasts — "I'm  holier  than  you  1" 
While  all  alike  are  bound  by  Error's  chains, 
Whose  rust  corrosive  Truth's  fair  vestment  stains. 

That  the  meek  Founder  of  the  Christian  plan 
Gave  moral  teachings  as  the  guide  of  man, 
Can  never  be  denied.     He  taught  that  Love 
Was  the  great  lever  to  raise  men  above 
The  grovelings  of  earth  ;  that  wealth  should  be 
Despised  as  filthy  dross  ;  that  man  should  flee 
Temptation's  luring  paths  ;  that  human  pride 
To  sorrow  and  destruction  was  allied  ; 
That  hatred  was  accursed,  and  that  "to  do 
To  others  as  you'd  have  them  do  to  you," 
Was  the  great  law  of  life. 


THE   WAYS    OF   CHRISTENDOM.  1 6*1 

Such  simple  rules — 

Too  high  for  men  ;  too  holy  for  the  schools — 
(Unlike  our  Buddha's  easier  commands,) 
Have  spread  hypocrisy  o'er  Christian  lands  ; 
And  now  that  "  leaven  of  the  Pharisees" 
Remains,  the  putrid  and  corrupting  lees 
Of  the  "  new  wine  "  which  promised  peace  and 

heaven, 
And  which,  that  all  might  drink  and  live,  was 

given. 

Thus  Christian  rights  became  an  empty  show, 
And  Christian  deeds  the  deeds  of  foe  to  foe  ; 
Sect  hating  sect,  prays  for  each  others  fall, 
Till  rivalry  and  envy  rule  in  all. 


Priests  are  employed  to  have  the  care  of  souls, 
Just  as  the  sexton  is  employed,  who  tolls 
The  sinner-calling  bell.     They  preach  for  gold  ; 
Their  services,  like  merchant's  wares,  are  sold. 
On  sumptuous  fare  they  live,  and  solemn  pride 
They  wrap  around  them,  as  a  cloak,  to  hide 
Their  grosser  failings.     Are  these,  then,  the  guides 
Whom  a  just  heaven,  or  yellow  dust  provides  ? 
Are  these  the  teachers  who  take  up  the  cross — . 
Who  look  on  wealth  as  worse  than  filthy  dross — 
Who,  without  purse  or  scrip,  or  ordered  plan, 
Go  forth  to  "  preach  glad  tidings  "  unto  man  ? 
Are  these  the  kind,  the  humble  and  the  pure, 
Who  would  contempt  and  buffetings  endure, 


168  THE    WAYS    OF    CHRISTENDOM. 

All  for  their  Master's  sake  ?    Are  these  the  meek 
Who,  if  opposed  and  smitten  on  one  cheek, 
Would  turn  the  other  also  ?     Seek  the  fane 
Whose  gilded  turrets  point  to  heaven  in  vain  ; 
Mark  its  rich  trappings  and  its  cushioned  pews 
Where  wealthy  Christians  meet  at  times  to  muse 
On  business  and  exchange — the  ways  of  trade — 
How  bubbles  float — how  millionaires  are  made — 
How  queenly  beauties  make  so  grand  a  show — 
How  in  some  eyes  such  witching  glances  glow — 
How  love  is  nursed — while  not  a  thought  is  given 
To  laying  up  fair  treasure  stores  in  Heaven, 
Where  thieves  can  ne'er  approach.     Let  priests 

attend 

To  all  such  ghostly  business,  and  befriend 
Their  paying  patrons  !     They  the  brokers  are 
Betwixt  the  seen  and  unseen — near  and  far — 
And  for  cash  paid  in  hand,  a  goodly/sum, 
They  sell  exchange  upon  "  the  world  to  come!" 

Thus  do  the  priests  of  faith   "  make  merchan 
dise," 

Till  worldly  wealth  and  power  become  their  prize  ; 
Each  creed  has  its  anointed  devotees, 
Who  feast  on  fatness,  and  in  honored  ease 
Make  proud,  presumptuous  prayers.     To  Him  on 

high 

They  talk  as  to  some  equal  in  the  sky  ; 
They  tell  Him  what  to  bless  and  what  to  spurn — 
"  We  bless  thee,  Lord,  now  bless  us  in  return  1" 


THE   WAYS    OF   CHRISTENDOM.  169 

This  is  their  orison;     Some  dare  pretend 
That  the  decrees  of  highest  Heaven  will  bend 
At  their  request  ;  that  they  can  loose  or  bind, 
In  earth  or  Heaven,  as  they  may  feel  inclined — 
Absolve  from  sin,  and  give  to  lust  free  reign 
By  kind  "  indulgence,"  when  it  yields  them  gain. 
Others  grow  rich  on  tithes — Lord  Bishops  they — 
Their  word  is  law,  and  laymen  must  obey. 
With  princely  *'  livings  " — power  in  Church  and 

State- 
E'en  among  great  ones  they  are  doubly  great, 
Thousands  must  toil,  must  starve,  perchance,  to 

swell 

Their  golden  treasures  ;  and  if  one  rebel, 
The  willing  bailiff  and  the  jailer  stern 
Force  him  with  due  submission  to  return, 
And  ask  admittance  to  the  sacred  fold 
With  that  sure  passport — penitential  gold  ! 
Others  again,  make  faith  a  blind  belief 
In  effete  forms  and  visages  of  grief  ; 
While  others  still  on  holy  works  depend, 
As  if  they  could  by  "  filthy  rags  "*  ascend 
The  highest  heav'n,  and  claim  an  honor'd  seat 
Where  but  "  the  pure  in  heart "  their  God  can 

meet. 


Thus  all  have  forged  their  fetters  for  the  mind, 
And  proved  themselves  blind  leaders  of  the  blind  ; 

*  "  And  all  our  righteousness  is  as  filthy  rags." — Scripture. 


170  THE    WAYS    OF    CHRISTENDOM. 

Creed  fights  with  creed,  as  crime  contends  with 

crime, 

And  each  the  other  sullies  o'er  with  grime. 
Church  speaks  to  church,  but  each  conflicting  call 
Awakes  the  echoes  of  some  prison  wall  ; 
Nor  is  it  strange — that  wild,  commingled  cry — 
For  crimes  and  creeds  together  multiply. 
These  contradictious  among  Christian  creeds 
Have  fostered  unbelief  and  evil  deeds. 
Faith  ne'er  can  be  content  with  empty  forms, 
Hope's  pinions  fail  'mid  theologic  storms, 
And  soaring  souls,  to  Deity  allied, 
Can  ne'er,  like  swine,  with  husks  be  satisfied. 

And  so  poor  Christians — Christians  but  in  name, 
Have  lost  in  sects  their  singleness  of  aim  : 
Some  seek  amid  the  wiles  of  unbelief, 
For  present  comfort — infidel  to  grief, 
And  pain,  and  joy,  and  all  beyond  the  grave — 
They  bid  defiance  to  the  Stygian  wave. 
Others  espouse  new-fangled  heresies, 
Invent  new  prophecies,  and  new  decrees, 
And,  like  a  prairie-fire,  their  doctrines  spread, 
For  fools  will  follow  where  deceivers  tread. 
Thus  Mormonism  took  its  lustful  rise, 
And  newer  isms,  fresh  showered  from  the  skies 
By  disembodied  sprites,  who  come  to  rave 
Of  those  strange  lands  which  lie  beyond  the  grave. 
The  Mormons  have  their  prophets  and  their  wives ; 
They  sow  licentiousness,  a  plant  which  thrives 


THE    WAYS    OF   CHRISTENDOM.  171 

In  the  rank  soil  which  human  hearts  afford, 
And  yields  a  fruit  by  rascal  "saints"  adored. 
But  spirit-isms  take  a  far  wider  range, 
Pass  through  supernal  lands  in  search  of  change  ; 
Seek  out  fair  beauties  of  celestial  mould, 
Where  spirit-spheres  their  spirit-fruits  unfold — 
Thrill  with  celestial  love  ;  and  still,  aspire 
To  something  fairer,  purer,  grander,  higher  ! 
Yet  while  these  isms  so  wonderfully  climb, 
Like  spirit- felons,  into  spheres  sublime, 
Their  grand  interpreters  in  earthly  schools 
Are  dancing  tables,  animated  stools, 
And  cupboards  which  can  syllable  by  raps 
The  history  of  marvelous  mishaps, 
And  tell  the  wonders  of  the  heavenly  host 
Through  the  obsession  of  some  gossip-ghost. 

Compared  with  these,  how  pure  the  Buddhist 

creed 

So  kindly  suited  to  the  sinner's  need  : 
All  who  prove  false  should  straight  be  sent  to 

dwell 
Amid  the  tortures  of  the  Christian's  hell. 


172  THE    WAYS    OF    CHRISTENDOM. 

II. 
GOVERN  M  EXT. 

IN  Christian  lands  all  government  is  fraud — • 
The  toiling  millions  have  to  kiss  the  rod  ; 
And    while    they   clap   their  hands   and    shout, 

"  we're  free  !" 

Their  limbs  are  galled  by  chains  and  slavery. 
To  him  that  hath  is  given.     The  great  take  all — 
While  the  poor  wretch  must  starve,  or  humbly 

crawl, 

After  his  strength  is  wasted,  to  the  grave, 
With  none  to  pity  him  and  none  to  save. 
Grand  are  the  titles  by  which  rulers  reign — 
Dark  are  the  deeds  by  which  their  souls  they  stain. 
Kings,  Emperors  forsooth  !  bend  low  the  knee, 
And  homage  yield  to  titled  lechery  ! 
Might  robes  itself  in  purple,  and  the  sword 
Leaps  from  its  scabbard  if  a  royal  word 
Of  vengefulness  is  uttered.     Minions  come  1 
Let  the  loud  trump  be  sounded  ;  beat  the  drum  ; 
While  the  great  cannon  thunders  to  the  sky  : 
Europe,  thy  balance  bends  beneath  a  fly  ! 

Thus  Christian  wars  arise,  and  "  peace  on  earth77 
Is  mocked  at  and  profaned  by  "  men  of  birth.77 
Let  the  base  millions  bleed  and  bleeding  fight — 
For  "right  divine77  has  wrongs  which  it  must 

ritfit, 


THE   WAYS    OF    CHRISTENDOM.  173 

And  rights  which  are  but  human  must  give  way 
That  rights  divine  can  have  unquestioned  sway  I 

0,  it  doth  pain  me  to  the  soul,  to  see 
The  vassalage  of  men  who  should  be  free. 
"  Outside   barbarians "    though    they   are,    their 

wrongs 

Speak  to  my  judgment,  as  with  cloven  tongues 
From   which   the   blood   is   dropping.     Let  me 

grieve, 
For  I  must  pity  though  I  can't  relieve. 

"  Ours  is  a  land  of  laws"  these  Christians  cry, 
And  that  it  is,  the  bard  will  not  deny. 
But  oh,  such  laws  !     Confused,  conflicting,  vain, 
As  the  wild  flights  of  a  distempered  brain, 
Where  "rotton  burroughs"  taint  the  moral  air 
And  party-bribes  for  party-spoils  prepare. 
The  mushroom  legislator  grossly  thrives, 
And  claims  control  of  property  and  lives. 
By  fraud  elected,  what  but  fraud  should  be 
The  groundwork  of  his  partial  polity  ? 
He  meets  his  fellows — "  honorable  men," 
For  such  they  humbly  style  themselves — and  then 
In  Parliament  assembled,  laws  they  frame 
To  tax  the  toiler  and  th'  unruly  tame. 
A  fiction  of  these  laws  makes  all  men  stand 
Before  them  equal — brothers  hand  in  hand — 
But  stern  experience  gives  damning  proof 
That  partial  justice  flies  the  poor  man's  roof 
To  wanton  in  a  palace.     Laws  which  change 
With  each  revolving  year  must  e'er  be  strange 


114  THE -WAYS    OF   CHRISTENDOM. 

Unto  the  toiling  millions  who  must  bow 
As  does  the  ox,  when  harnessed  to  the  plow. 
Hence  lawyers  must  be  feed  to  make  that  plain, 
Which  should  be  plain  without  them.     Sweat  of 

brain 

They  give  for  gold,  and  guilt  or  purity 
Is  all  the  same  to  them  :     Who  pays  goes  free. 

This,  of  a  land  whose  fame  is  fairest  held 
Among  these  Christian  spoilers.     Now  impelled 
By  curious  quest  we'll  cross  the  sounding  sea 
To  that  great  Western  "  land  of  liberty  " — 
That  land  of  prairies  wide  and  flowing  streams, 
Whose  virgin  soil  with  varied  produce  teems. 
Columbia,  hail !     On  thee,  heaven  faintly  smiles, 
As  if  a  gleam  from  our  celestial  isles 
Had  wandered  off,  and  sought  thy  distant  shore, 
There  to  abide  and  brighten  evermore. 
But  e'en  Columbia,  as  a  Christian  land, 
Is   curst   by   Christian   guile.     Would   that  the 

hand 

Of  Buddha  might  on  its  fair  fields  be  laid, 
So  they  might  rest  beneath  his  sacred  shade  !  j 
In  theory  its  government  is  pure  ; 
In  practice  'tis  corrupt.     There  is  no  cure 
For  the  gross  ulcers  which  mine  all  within, 
Filling  the  land  with  avarice  and  sin. 
Free,  universal  suffrage  is  proclaimed, 
That  guilt  may  triumph  and  the  truth  be  shamed. 
The  pot-house  plotters  meet  in  caucus  vile 
To  lay  their  plans  of  selfishness  and  guile. 


THE   WAYS  OF  CHRISTENDOM.  175 

"  Intrigue  and  bargain  !"  these  the  lusty  twain 
By  which  they  triumph  and  by  which  they  stain 
The  sacred  robe  of  justice,  which  should  be 
Pure  as  the  pearls  which  slumber  'neath  the  sea. 
Elections  are  a  fraud.     The  public  voice 
Is  cheated  and  deluded  in  its  choice, 
And  where  the  best  and  wisest  should  be  first, 
Election  takes  the  wickedest  and  worst. 
The  bribe-bought  ballot  gives  the  right  to  rule, 
Though  cast  by  grossest  knave  or  dullest  fool — 
And  fools  and  knaves,  it  must  be  understood, 
Outnumber,  ten  to  one,  the  wise  and  good. 

Thus  Christian  statesmen  their  republics  frame  ; 
They  manage  them  as  gamblers  do  their  game, 
Making  the  knave  a  trump,  and  by  their  deal 
Contrive,  in  seeming  honesty,  to  steal. 
The  Press  with  them  becomes  a  servile  thing, 
That  puffs  for  pay,  and  makes  its  plaudits  ring 
For  party  candidates.     What's  black  or  white, 
To  those  who  under  party  trammels  write  ? 
The  Bar's  alike  depraved.     0,  draw  not  nigh 
To  where  blind  justice  holds  her  balance  high, 
For  though  your  cause  may  be  as  pure  as  heav'n, 
You  may  be  sure  'twill  be  against  you  giv'n. 
False  witnesses  are  purchasable  things  ; 
And  the  paid  pleader  who  against  you  brings 
His  score  of  such  is  sure  of  his  reward  ; 
Against  his  shafts  no  honesty  can  guard. 
Then  the  packed  juror,  with  his  bribe  in  hand  : 
None  can  his  guilty  agency  withstand, 


176  THE    WAYS    OF    CHRISTENDOM.  ~ 

For  ready  to  obey  the  legal  beck, 
He  coolly  holds  eleven  peers  in  check, 
Making  a  farce  of  all  the  forms  of  law 
That  guilt,  its  coveted  rewards,  may  draw. 

Oh,  blessed  Buddha  !  that  thou  may'st  forgive 
The  \vand'ring  bard,  who  scarce  deserves  to  live, 
I  of  those  fierce  barbarian-Christians  write, 
That  ne'er  again  from  liberty  and  light 
A  Japanese  may  stray  !     Let  full  content 
O'er  our  celestial  realm  be  kindly  sent, 
And  where  barbaric  splendors  would  allure, 
Let  Christian  guilt  become  a  speedy  cure. 


III. 
SOCIAL    CONDITION   OF   CHRISTENDOM. 

IN  Christian  lands  falsehood's  the  only  truth, 
Deceit  sits  throned  e'en  on  the  brow  of  youth, 
Masking  pretention  with  its  smooth  disguise, 
And  making  love  with  simulated  sighs. 
Fashion  and  folly  rule  the  giddy  throng 
With  gilded  shows  ;  and  e'en  the  poet's  song, 
Which  should  be  high  as  heaven,  finds  its  low  rhyme 
In  vulgar  teachings  and  ignoble  crime. 
Woman's  a  plaything,  passionate,  depraved, 
By  need,  and  greed,  and  vanity  enslaved  ; 


THE   WAYS   OF   CHRISTENDOM.  177 

While  man,  the  Christian,  filled  with  demon  guile, 
Still  plays  the  fiend  and  murders  with  a  smile. 

Forgive  me,  Buddah, — great,  eterne,  supreme  I 
I  sing  of  things,  strange  as  a  troubled  dream  ; 
Of  human  beings  in  a  form  divine, 
Who  crawl  like  serpents  through  corruption's  slime, 
And  then  their  boasted  purity  proclaim, 
Deaf  to  rebuke  ;  insensible  to  shame  ! 

From  regal  halls  where  courtly  Fashion  reigns, 
To  the  low  dens  where  fear  alone  restrains, 
There  are  degrees  in  form  but  not  in  deed  ; 
The  same  dark  fruit  springs  from  the  same  vile  s«ed. 
In  circles  which  are  called  "  select "  and  "  high/7 
Honor's  a  bawd  and  courtesy  a  lie, 
And  rules  akin  in  grosser  forms  prevail 
Through  lower  levels  of  the  social  scale. 

Call  Friendship  on  the  stage.    Its  warmest  glow 
Chills  'neath  misfortune  into  Alpine  snow. 
To  purple  and  fine  linen  it  may  bow  ; 
Castles  of  Indolence  it  may  endow, 
But  from  "  chill  penury  "  it  stands  aloof, 
And  still  denies  the  shelter  of  its  roof. 
The  flash  of  diamonds  and  the  gleam  of  gold 
May  rouse  its  envy,  but  they  still  will  mould 
Its  outward  show — the  letter  of  its  grace — 
Though  of  its  spirit  they  retain  no  trace. 

Call  up  the  man  of  trade.     Deceptive  wares, 
Adulterated  drinks,  and  hidden  snares 
In  every  form  of  fabric,  test  the  skill 
Of  Christian  genius  in  its  love  of  ill. 


178  THE    WAYS    OF    CHRISTENDOM. 

The  wooden  nutmeg  and  the  oaken  ham* 
Are  only  grosser  forms  of  that  great  sham, 
Which  palms  off  tinsel  for  true  cloth  of  gold, 
And  makes  the  coward  master  of  the  bold. 
Commerce  its  bubbles  hath,  its  flying  kites, 
Its  men  of  straw,  that  swagger  forth  as  knights 
And  merchant  princes — mockeries  sublime 
Which  touch  the  hollow  tympanum  of  time. 

In  social  converse  the  same  rule  obtains  ; 
Deception  hides,  as  best  it  can,  the  stains 
Which  mark  the  inner  life.   From  "  not  at  home," 
A  fetty  falsehood,  light  as  airy  foam — 
To  the  vile  depths,  where  honor  shrinks,  aghast, 
And  all  the  barriers  of  truth  are  passed, 
The  way  is  strewn  by  arts  of  false  pretense 
Which  bid  all  honesty  and  virtue  hence  I 

Let  Love  come  in  the  list.     Can  it  redeem 
The  darker  features  of  the  poet's  theme  ? 
Can  its  great  truths  o'ershadow  the  deceit 
Which  turns  to  bitterness  what  should  be  sweet  ? 
Not  in  these  Christian  lands,  where  hearts  are  sold, 
Where  an  "  establishment "  and  hoarded  gold 
Outweigh  affection.     Not  where  solemn  vows 
Are  held  as  light  as  air,  and  but  arouse 
A  wanton  spirit ;  making  young  desire 
The  very  nurse  of  an  unhallowed  fire. 

*  It  is  confidently  stated  that  in  one  of  the  Christian 
States  deception  is  carried  to  such  an  extent  that  spurious 
hams,  nutmegs,  and  other  articles  of  a  like  character,  are 
manufactured  of  wood. 


THE   WAYS    OF    CHRISTENDOM.  1T9 

The  Christian's  love  is  passion's  unchecked  course, 
Or  that  base  barter,  where  affection's  force 
Is  lost  in  selfish  aims.     There  is  no  truth 
Where  love  is  not  ;  no  fond  prophetic  youth  ; 
But  in  their  stead  cold  calculations  rise 
And  truest  wisdom  seems  the  most  unwise. 

Buddah,  supreme  !     I  bow  before  thy  throne. 
A  wanderer  returned,  I  humbly  own 
The  folly  of  my  course.     To  thy  strong  arm 
My  weakness  owes  its  strength.  Still  free  from  harm 
I  mingled  with  barbarians,  fierce  and  wild, 
And  touched  their  pitch,  but  still,  was  not  defiled. 
In  adoration  meek,  I  bow  the  knee, 
And  cry  Japan,  Buddha,  and  Liberty  ! 


180 


MY  BROTHERS'  GRAVES. 

[Written  at  the  request  of  a  lady  whose  two  brothers  died 
of  injuries  received  on  the  battle-fields  of  Mexico.] 


M 


Y  brothers'  graves  ! — my  brothers'  graves 

Dear  spots  where  lov'd  ones  rest ; 
Where  sunshine  smiles  and  verdure  waves, 

And  where  the  song-bird's  nest 
Is  built  among  the  flowers  which  cheer 
The  lengthened  summer  of  the  year. 

Though  from  each  other  distant  far, 

And  distant  far  from  me, 
I  oft  times  speed  in  fancy's  car 

These  hallowed  spots  to  see — 
To  feel  "  the  joy  of  grief,"  and  weep 
O'er  the  green  hillocks  where  they  sleep. 

Too  early  lost  I     In  glory's  race 

They  sought  the  battle  plain, 
And  early  found,  in  death's  embrace, 

A  balm  for  every  pain  : 
One  fell  beneath  Jalapa's  sky, 
The  other  sought  his  home — to  die. 


MY  BROTHERS'  GRAVES.  181 

And  both  are  gone — the  kind,  the  good, 

The  loving  and  the  brave, 
And  still  at  noon  the  waving  wood 

Casts  shadows  o'er  each  grave, — 
And  the  blue  sky  looks  calmly  on, 
Nor  seems  to  weep  that  they  are  gone. 

And  why  should  I  ? — a  world  of  care, 

Perchance,  a  world  of  woe, 
If  living,  they  would  have  to  share, 

Which,  dead,  they  cannot  know. 
These  truant  tears  of  mine  I'll  dry — 
My  brothers  live  with  Him  on  high. 


182  SOLITUDE. 


SOLITUDE. 

ALL  gently  breathes  the  voice  of  Solitude  ! 
It  gives  its  whispers  to  the  spirit's  ear 
In  eloquence  so  tender  and  subdued, 

That  the  rapt  seraphs  might  descend  to  hear. 
And  with  the  teachings  of  that  gentle  voice 
There  conies  a  deep  forgetfulness  of  care, 
.  Till  the  freed  soul  with  Nature  can  rejoice, 
And  pluck  fresh  garlands,  ever  pure  and  fair. 

No  grosser  sound  of  earth  can  e'er  be  heard 

Where  Solitude  asserts  her  gentler  sway, 
But,  fairer  than  the  wings  of  Eden's  bird, 

Fancy  her  own  unfolds  and  floats  away, — 
Away,  away,  to  those  fair  lands  of  bliss, 

Rich  with  the  flow'rets  of  expanded  thought — 
The  Edens  of  the  soul — where  from  the  kiss 

Of  heaven-born  muses  Poesy  is  caught. 

These  are  the  treasures  Solitude  imparts  ! 

Oh,  blissful  visions  of  the  flow'ry  land, 
Where  the  warm  life-blood  of  poetic  hearts 

All  vital  flows  at  Song's  supreme  command. 


SOLITUDE.  183 

Come  1  Be  my  chosen  prize  !  On  willing  wing 
I'll  flee  the  crowded  haunts  of  grief  and  care, 

To  seek  the  climes  where  Thought's  ideal  spring, 
Bequeaths  its  fragrance  to  Love's  balmy  air. 


184  LINES   TO 


LINES   TO  

LADY,  for  thee  I  seize  my  untried  lyre, 
And,  with  love's  daring,  touch  its  trembling 

strings, 
For  thou  my  young  ambition  dost  inspire, 

And  giv'st  to  fancy  hope's  upsoaring  wings. 
Cheer  with  thy  smile,  and  all  the  world  may  lower, 

For  in  thy  smile  a  sunshine  to  my  soul 
Comes,  with  a  blissful  and  ideal  power, 

And  through  bright  vistas  points  a  star-lit  goal. 
Joyous  and  blest  be  all  thy  future  life, 

Crowned   with   spring    flow'rs    and    autumn's 

golden  fruit : 

Far,  far  from  thee  be  blighting  care  and  strife, 
And  near,  one  loving  heart — one  faithful  lute  I 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  AN  AGED  CLERGYMAN.  185 


H 


ON   THE   DEATH    OF    AN 

AGED    CLERGYMAN. 

IS  voice  is  bushed  !     In  a  last  lone  sleep 

His  eyelids  are  closed  forever, 
And,  shepherdless  now,  bis  flock  may  weep, 
But  in  bope.     That  sleep, 
So  fearfully  deep, 
Cannot  long  the  righteous  sever  ! 

When  the  trumpet  sounds,  and  the  dead  arise, 

His  spirit  shall  then,  ascending, 
Meet  the  sainted  hosts  of  the  upper  skies — 
The  blest— that  rise 
"  Where  the  treasure  lies," 
In  the  land  of  love  unending. 

His  priestly  garb  be  shall  wear  no  more, 

Though  be  kept  it  bright  and  stainless  ; 
But  a  richer  garb,  on  a  fairer  shore, 
Shall  foreverniore 
Shed  its  lustre  o'er 
His  spirit,  released  and  chainless. 


186  OX  THE  DEATH  OF  AX  AGED  CLERGYMAN". 

For  half  of  a  century  his  years 

He  has  spent  as  a  people's  pastor  ; 
He  has  borne  the  burdens  and  wiped  the  tears 
Of  the  young  in  years, 
Of  the  old,  whose  fears 
Made  them  tremble  amid  disaster. 

For  half  of  a  century  his  life, 

As  a  sacred  trust,  was  given 
To  a  church  on  earth  ;  still  he  calmed  the  strife 
With  which  earth-born  life 
Is  forever  rife, 
Till  he  passed  to  the  church  in  heaven. 


UNES    TO    .  181 


LINES    TO  . 

[Written  at  one   o'clock,   A.  M.,  on  the  morning  of  the 
first  of  January,  1849.] 

~T~   ADY,  one  song  for  thee  !    I  touch  my  lyre, 

I   1     As  if  the  dear  ambition  of  my  soul 
Could  find  in  it  an  echo.     Let  me  weave 
Together  wreaths  of  sweetest  harmony, 
Still  thou  shalt  be  the  music  of  my  verse, 
And  lend  thy  spirit  to  my  fairest  dreams  ! 

E'en  now,  when  thought  takes  wing, 
To  soar  in  fancy  o'er  the  fields  of  hope, 
Thou'rt  the  companion  of  my  wayward  flight, 
Else,  all  my  course  were  dark.    But  when  thou  art 
Twin  wanderer  through  fancy's  fairy  realm, 
The  cheering  iris  spans  hope's  highest  heaven, 
And  paints  its  promises  with  richest  dyes. 
O,  'tis  delightful  ! — haply,  but  a  dream, 
Yet  would  I  not  forego  such  blissful  dreams 
For  all  of  loveless  wealth's  realities. 
Here,  on  the  altar  of  the  infant  year 
I  cast  the  votive  off' ring  !     May  the  glow 
Of  fond  affection  give  the  incense  flame, 
And  warm  the  censer  with  love's  blest  delight. 


188  LINES. 


LINES. 
[Written  at  sea  in  a  friend's  Scrap-book.] 

O'ER  passion's  wave  let  reason  guide 
The  bark  which  bears  us  on  ; 
God  guard  the  rudder — still  the  tide, 
And  land  us  safely,  side  by  side, 
So  we  may  evermore  abide 
Near  his  Eternal  Throne  ! 


LITTLE   WILLIE.  189 


LITTLE    WILLIE. 

I  WILL  sing  no  song  of  sorrow, 
Though  my  flow'r  has  ceased  to  bloom, 
And  the  solemn  winds  of  autumn 

Sigh  their  dirge  above  his  tomb — 
For  my  Willie !  O,  my  Willie  ! 

Was  a  child  of  love  and  light, 
And  the  world  to  which  he's  journeyed 
Never  can  be  one  of  night. 

Willie  was  our  young  immortal, 

Blessing  earth  a  little  while, 
With  the  freshness  of  his  spirit, 

And  the  glory  of  his  smile  ; 
But  the  golden  gates  of  heaven 

Opened  wide  to  let  him  in, 
And  a  seraph's  hymn  of  welcome 

Called  him  from  this  world  of  sin. 

So  our  Willie  has  departed 

Bearing  not  a  stain  of  earth, 
And  though  painful  was  the  parting, 

'Twas  to  him  "  a  second  birth." 


190  LITTLE    WILLIE. 

Sinless,  to  the  realms  eternal 
He  has  borne  a  mother's  prayer, 

And  in  dreams  of  bliss  supernal 
I  have  met  his  spirit  there. 

NEW  ORLEANS,  Oct.  15, 1865. 


0    LET   ME    DREAM.  191 


O,  LET  ME  DREAM. 

OLET  me  dream  those  dreams  again- 
The  dreams  of  long  ago — 
When  all  my  hopes  had  angel  wings, 
And,  in  my  path,  the  crystal  springs 

Of  life  were  in  their  flow. 
0,  let  me  dream  those  dreams  again — 
The  dreams  of  long  ago  ! 

0,  let  me  dream  those  boyhood  dreams, 
Which  bathed  my  soul  in  light, 

When,  playing  in  life's  sunny  bowers, 

I  twined  a  chaplet  wreath  of  flowers 
For  one  so  fair  and  bright — • 

For  one  who  is  an  angel  now — 
An  angel  robed  in  white. 

O,  let  me  dream  those  dreams  again  ! 

The  past  bring  back  once  more  : 
I  ask  it  on  my  bended  knees — 
O  let  those  mystic  memories 

Unlock  their  golden  store, 
So  I  can  touch  them  one  by  one 

And  count  my  treasures  o'er. 


192  O,    LET   ME   DREAM. 

0,  let  me  dream  those  dreams  again, 
Which  came  ere  grief  and  care 

Had  placed  their  signet  on  my  brow — 

And  bound  me  to  a  sterner  Now 
That  goads  and  will  not  spare, — 

I'd  dream  of  her  who,  although  dead, 
Is  still  so  pure  and  fair. 


193 


FOR  THEE,  MY  LOVE,  FOR  THEE  ! 


A    LYRIC. 

rTlHY  love's  the  sun,  thou  peerless  one- 
_L      It  warms  me  with  its  glow  ; 
With  light  divine  it  seems  to  shine, 

Though  I  alone  can  know 
Its  secret  charm — a  shield  from  harm 

On  life's  uncertain  sea: 
O,  I  shall  pray,  both  night  and  day, 
For  thee,  my  love,  for  thee  ! 

With  starry  gleams,  in  holy  dreams 

Thou  comest  to  my  soul, 
As  o'er  a  strand  of  golden  sand 

Life's  sparkling  waters  roll : 
And,  with  the  kiss  of  purest  bliss, 

Attuned  to  harmony, 
My  thoughts  arise  to  brightest  skies, 

With  thee,  my  love,  with  thee. 


194  FOR  THEE,  MY   LOVE,  FOR  THEE  ! 

The  golden  chimes  of  sweetest  rhymes 

Thy  charms  but  faintly  tell, 
The  softest  note  that  e'er  did  float 

From  fairy  horn  or  shell — 
With  birds  that  sing,  and  flow'rs  of  spring, 

And  all  bright  things  that  be — 
None  can  compare,  with  voice  or  air, 

With  thee,  my  love,  with  thee  ! 

O,  I  would  write  thy  name  with  light, 

To  shame  the  stars  above, 
And  in  high  lays  would  ever  praise 

The  riches  of  thy  love, 
All  wealth  that  shines  in  golden  mines, 

All  gems  of  land  and  sea, 
Are  but  as  rust  and  trampled  dust, 

To  thee,  my  love,  to  thee  ! 


THE  LIGHT  OF  MY  LOVED  ONE?S  EYES.  195 


THE  LIGHT  OF  MY  LOVED  ONE'S  EYES. 

WHO  will  praise  bestow 
On  the  opal's  glow, 
Or  the  diamond's  sparkling  sheen, 
When  the  richer  prize 
Of  my  loved  one's  eyes 
May,  in  peerless  pride,  be  seen  ? 
In  each  liquid  sphere 
Does  a  glow  appear 
That  would  light  up  the  farthest  skies, 
For  'tis  never  night 
When  appears  the  light, 
The  light  of  my  loved  one's  eyes — 

The  light  of  my  loved  one's  eyes — 
For  'tis  never  night 
When  appears  the  light, 
The  light  of  my  loved  one's  eyes. 

All  the  world  seems  gay 

As  the  flow'rs  of  May, 
When  illumed  by  my  loved  one's  smile, 

For  the  blessed  gleam, 

Like  a  holy  beam 
From  some  blissful,  starry  isle, 


196 


With  a  lustre  rare 
Maketh  all  things  fair 
As  the  fairest  of  earth  or  skies, — 
For  'tis  never  night 
When  appears  the  light, 
The  light  of  my  loved  one's  eyes — 
The  light  of  my  loved  one's  eyes- 
For  'tis  never  night 
When  appears  the  light, 
The  light  of  my  loved  one's  ones. 


FORGETTING   THEE  ?  197 


FORGETTING  THEE? 

FORGETTING  thee  ?  oh  no,  my  love  : 
I  never  can  forget 
The  pulse  of  joy  that  thrilled  my  heart 

When  first  we  fondly  met  ; 
The  hope  that  kindled  in  the  blaze 

Of  thy  soul-piercing  eye, 
And  taught  me  how  to  worship  thee — 

My  all  beneath  the  sky  ! 
Nay,  chide  no  more  :  I  will  confess, 

And  thou  my  saint  shall  be, 
And  kneeling  at  thy  feet  I'll  swear — 

I  am  for  getting  thee  ! 

Forgetting  thee  ?    When  Spring  forgets 

To  robe  the  fields  in  bloom, 
And,  sere  and  desolate,  my  heart 

Shall  all  its  hopes  entomb  ; 
When  light  and  joy  shall  to  my  soul 

Come  as  a  deadly  blight, 
And  stars  no  more  shall  brightly  gem 

The  azure  halls  of  night, 
I  may  forget,  but  not  till  then  ; 

Still,  thou  my  saint  shall  be, 
And  I'll  confess — I  am,  my  love, 

I  am  for  getting  thee  ! 


198  OUT,  OUT   IXTO   THE    SUNLIGHT. 


OUT,  OUT  IXTO  THE  SUNLIGHT. 

OUT,  out  into  the  sunlight  from  the  tyrant's 
dungeon  wall ; 
Let  man  before  his  fellow  man  no  longer  fawn 

and  crawl  ! 
Accurs'd  be  hoary  tyrannies,  and  more  accursM 

be  he 

Whose  traitor-hand  would  basely  forge  a  fetter 
for  the  free  ! 

Out,  out  into  the  sunlight  ! 

Out,  out  into  the  sunlight,  from  the  darkened 

chamber  where 
The  sick,  with  plaints  of  agony  and  feebly-uttered 

prayer, 
Ask  God  to  alter  His  decrees,  and  by  his  sov- 

'reign  will 
To  utter  a  divine  "Be  healed!"  or  else  a  "Peace, 

be  still!" 

Out,  out  into  the  sunlight. 

Out,  out  into  the  sunlight,  from  the  bigot's  dark 
some  cell, 

Where  superstition  plumes  herself  with  mysteries 
from  hell  ; 


OUT,    OUT   INTO   THE    SUNLIGHT.  199 

Where  mind  is  manacled  with  dread,  and  base 

unholy  fears 
Cast  out  all  love  and,  in  its  stead,  dig  deep  the 

fount  of  tears. 

Out,  out  into  the  sunlight  ! 

Out,  out  into  the  sunlight,  from  the  blackness  of 

despair, 
Where  hope  is  lost,  and  weary  souls,  bow'd  down 

by  grief  and  care, 
Find  earth  a  barren  desert-waste,  and  heav'n  a 

starless  wild, 
And  they  themselves,  poor  creeping  worms,  un- 

cared  for  and  defiled. 

Out,  out  into  the  sunlight  ! 

Out,  out  into  the  sunlight,  from  the  vampire  hordes 

that  draw 
The  life-blood  from  all  better  life,  all  equity  from 

law  ; 
Who  fill  this  goodly  world  of  ours  with  discontent 

and  strife, 
And  consecrate  to  godless  deeds  the  pistol  and 

the  knife. 

Out,  out  into  the  sunlight  ! 

Out,  out  into   the  sunlight,  from  those   rayless 

depths  of  gloom, 
Which  hide  alike  all  peace  on  earth,  and  peace 

beyond  the  tomb  ; 


200  OUT,  OUT   INTO   THE    SUNLIGHT. 

Where  feeble  toilers  toil  in  tears  to  find  their 
struggles  vain, 

And  curse  the  Pow'r  that  made  their  lives  a  herit 
age  of  pain. 

Out,  out  into  the  sunlight ! 

Out,  out  into  the  sunlight,  where  the  soul,  re 
deemed  and  free, 

Can  borrow  wings  from  heav'nly  hopes  :    with 
eyes  of  faith  can  see 

Beyond  the  shadows  of  the  tomb  the  morning, 
land  appear 

Where  peace,  and  love,  and  joy  shall  crown  the 
never-ending  year. 

Out,  out  into  the  sunlight ! 


THE   GOLDEN   CHAIN.  201 


THE    GOLDEN    CHAIN. 

[Written  for  the  Odd  Fellows'  Anniversary  Celebration.] 

rTlHERE  is  a  chain  whose  golden  links 
JL      Heaven's  choicest  gifts  embrace  ; 
Life's  crowning  heritage  on  earth, 

Its  glory  and  its  grace  : 
Pure  as  the  rainbow's  blended  dyes, 

Free  as  the  stars  from  stain, 
Are  Friendship,  Love,  and  Truth — the  links 
Which  form  that  golden  chain. 

FRIENDSHIP  !  in  mystic  brotherhood 

It  binds  man  to  his  kind, 
Supporting  still  the  poor  and  frail, 

And  guiding  still  the  blind. 
So  brave  to  meet  fraternal  wants, 

So  gentle  in  distress, 
It  shares,  it  watches,  and  it  cheers, 

And  prays  that  Heav'n  may  bless. 

LOVE  !  blissful  dream  of  Eden  sweets 
Which  angels  fain  would  breathe  ; 

It  comes  like  spring,  the  tree  of  life 
With  blossoms  to  cnwreathe  ; 


202  THE  GOLDEN   CHAIN. 

It  presses  from  joy's  blushing  grapes 

Their  rich  ambrosial  wine, 
And  thrills  the  throbbing  human  heart 

With  ecstacies  divine. 

TRUTH  !  mirror  of  the  god-like  mind  ! 

Like  the  unruffled  lake, 
^Reflecting  all  the  glowing  heavens, 

Whose  glories  o'er  it  break. 
In  its  clear  depths  no  hidden  snare 

Can  ever  lie  concealed, 
For  all  things  there  are  pure  and  bright 

As  Jove's  immdrtal  shield. 

Thus  richly  linked  the  golden  chain 

A  sacred  charm  extends, 
Inviting  still  the  good  and  true 

To  join  for  noble  ends  : 
Making  the  words  of  brotherhood 

Assume  a  magic  power, 
And  every  sign  a  beiiison, 

And  each  Degree  a  dower. 

So  stands  the  glorious  Order  with 

Its  banners  fair  unfurled, 
Proclaiming  Friendship,  Love  and  Truth, 

Redeemers  of  the  world  ; 
Keeping  the  sacred  jewels  bright 

Around  which  brothers  meet, 
And  symbolizing  holy  ties 

With  water,  flowers,  and  wheat. 


SONG    OF   WELCOME.  203 


SONG    OF    WELCOME. 


[Written  for  the  General  Convention  of  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association.] 

"TT7TELCOME,  brothers  !  from  the  woodlands, 
V  V        From  the  cities  by  the  sea, 
From  the  heaven-kissing  mountains 

Here  we  meet  in  unity. 
Let  us  join  the  angel  chorus, 

Let  us  shout — again — again  ! — 
"  Glory  be  to  God,  the  Highest ! 
Peace  on  earth  !  Good  will  to  men  !" 


Welcome,  brothers  !     Bonds  fraternal 

Make  our  hearts  responsive  beat ; 
Giving  strength  to  aid  the  erring  ; 

Rendering  communion  sweet. 
Join  we  then  the  angel  chorus, 

Shouting  loud — again — again  ! — 
"  Glory  be  to  God,  the  Highest ! 

Peace  on  earth  !  Good  will  to  men  1" 


2C4  SONG    OF   WELCOME. 

Welcome,  brothers  !     Strong  in  council ; 

May  we  prove  in  virtue  brave  ; 
Brave  to  aid  the  broken-hearted — 

Strong  to  comfort  and  to  save — 
Swelling  still  the  angel  chorus, 

Shouting  still — again — again  I 
"  Glory  be  to  God,  the  Highest, 

Peace  on  earth  1  Good  will  to  men  1" 


DOMESTIC    FELICITY.  205 


DOMESTIC    FELICITY. 

[A  Scene  from  Real  Life,  between  a  fond  husband  and  a 
would-be  fashionable  wife,  who  has  a  tongue,  and  uses  it  in 
a  manner  peculiar  to  herself.] 

WILLIE. 

OME  to  me,  Flora;  the  earth  hath  no  treasure 
So  dear  unto  me  as  the  light  of  thy  smile  ; 
Come,  and  these  arms  shall  enfold  thee  as  fondly 
As  waves  when  encircling  some  beautiful  isle. 

Come  to  me,  dearest,  and  tell  of  thy  sorrowings  ; 

Who  hath  annoyed  thee,  my  darling,  my  wife  ? 
If  it  be  woman,  I'll  fight  all  her  brotherhood ; 

If  it  be  man,  he  shall  pay  with  his  life. 

FLORA. 

Why,  dearest  Willie,  we  ladies  have  miseries — 
Sorrows  unthought  of,  undreamed  of  by  man — 

You  "  coarser  vessels"  are  still  inconsiderate, 
Though  you  may  love  us  as  muck  as  you  can  ! 


206  DOMESTIC    FELICITY. 

Sensitive,  delicate,  highly  poetical  : 
Keenly  we  suffer  as  warmly  we  feel  ; 

Worthy  of  worship  we  are  and  angelical  ; 

Down  on  your  knees  to  me,  down  Willie,  kneel. 

What  !  you  refuse  ?   And  shall  I  then  recount  to 
you 

Part  of  the  catalogue,  fearfully  long, 
Which  is  my  proof  that  in  love  or  in  sorrow,  we 

Gentle  ones  suffer  much  more  than  the  strong  ? 

Strength  is  robustuous,  earthy,  tyrannical, 
Man  has  his  fierceness  in  love  as  in  hate, 

But  the  true  woman's  all  beauty  and  sympathy  ; 
Meek  as  a  flower,  she  bows  to  her  fate. 

See  how  resigned  I  am,  never  complainingly 
Yexing  my  Willie  with  tales  of  my  woe  ! — 

Suffer  !— no  tongue  can  tell  how  I  am  suffering, 
Yet  my  worst  sorrows  no  mortal  shall  know  ! 

There's  Mrs.  Money  Purse — I  do  not  envy  her, 
Yet  if  you  knew  but  how  hard  'tis  to  bear 

The  flash  of  her  diamonds,  the  whirl  of  her  carriage 

wheels, 
Sure  you  would  pity  me,  pity  and  spare. 

Think  of  it,  Willie,  she's  old  and  she's  ugly  too  ; 

I,  your  true  wife,  am  a  beauty  and  young ; 
If  I  were  rich  I  should  show  you  the  difference, 

Then  should  my  praises  be  said  and  be  sung. 


DOMES-TIC  FELICITY.  207 

Men  will  have  fashions  and  ladies  must  follow  them, 
Follow,  no  matter  tow  much  it  may  cost, 

Still  must  they  struggle  to  keep  up  appearances  ! 
Think  in  those  struggles  how  many  are  lost  ! 

I'm  your  true  wife,  and  I  know  of  your  poverty, 
Just  then  imagine  how  bad  I  must  feel 

When  brocades  and  rich  laces  are  shown  at  the 

windows, 
And  I  can  but  look  in,  and — turn  on  iny  heel  ! 

1  cannot  buy  them,  and  oh,  the  temptations 
Which  virtuous  poverty  e'er  must  endure, 

When,  as  in  my  case,  it  treads  among  pitfalls 
And  never  is  certain  its  footing  is  sure. 

WILLIE. 

So  you're  tired  of  poverty,  are  you,  my  Flora  ? 

Though  not  quite  as  poor  as  you  were  when  we 

wed. 
You  fear  some  rich  lion  may  enter  our  jungle, 

And  you'll,  like  a  lamb,  to  the  slaughter  be  led. 

Fear  not,  be  a  woman,  and  wealth  will  not  tempt 
you  ; 

Those  lambs  are  too  willing  that  run  to  the  snare: 
That  virtue  is  tainted  which  welcomes  temptation, 

If  true,  it  the  strongest  of  tempters  may  dare. 


208  DOMESTIC    FELICITY. 

FLORA. 

There  now,  that's  the  way  with  you,  always  up 
braiding  me, 

Flinging  out  coarse  inuendoes  and  jeers  ; 
No  wonder  my  cheeks  are  deprived  of  their  roses, 

My  eyes  melt  away  in  an  ocean  of  tears. 

You're  a  brute,  and  not  even  an  angel  could  bear 

with  you ; 

Oh,  were  I  but  back  to  my  mother  once  more, 
I'd  find  some  one  then  who  would  know  how  to 

prize  me ; 

Some  man  with  a  heart  that  could  love  and 
adore  ! 

Pshaw  !  it's  no  use  to  say  you're  too  poor  to  sup 
port  me, 

For  there's  Mr.  Jones  who  is  poorer  than  you, 
But  he  always  can  purchase  a  shawl  or  a  bonnet, 

As  all  husbands  can  who  are  loyal  and  true. 

If  he  only  had  now  a  sweet  wife — such  as  lara — 
And  not  a  mere  stick  ;  a  mere  bundle  of  bones ; 

He'd  wear  out  his  fingers  to  load  her  with  jewels, 
And  show  to  the  world  how  he  prized  Mrs. 
Jones. 

]STot  a  word  !  not  a  word  !  I  insist  on  it,  Willie, 
For  I  plainly  perceive  by  the  curl  of  your  lip 

That  you're  itching  to  say  something  vulgar  and 

silly, 
To  which,  if  a  man,  I'd  respond  with  a  whip. 


DOMESTIC    FELICITY.  209 

There  again  !  getting  cross,  it  is  sadly  provoking; 

Come,  ask  my  forgiveness  and  don't  be  absurd  ; 
No  pouting  and  showing  your  temper,  dear  Willie, 

For  you  know  your  sweet  Flora  must  have  the 
last  word. 


210  GIVE    ME    THE    HARP. 


GIVE   ME  THE   HARP. 


[Mary  A. ,  a  daughter  of  Rev.  J.  Blanchard,  President  of 
Wheaton  College,  died  on  the  6th  inst.  She  was  a  remark 
ably  pious  girl ;  and,  as  her  spirit  approached  the  heavenly 
land,  she  cried  out ,  "  Give  me  the  harp  I  hear  /"  and  then 
she  quietly  fell  asleep  in  Jesus.] 


/^\  IVE  me  the  harp  with  the  sounding  strings, 
\JT     The  harp  whose  tones  I  hear — 
It  seems  upborne  by  an  angel's  wings, 
And  unto  my  bursting  heart  it  brings 

The  sounds  of  hope  and  cheer — 
A  melody  all  divine,  that  springs 
From  a  higher  and  purer  sphere. 

Give  me  the  harp,  and  this  trembling  hand 

Released  from  the  ills  of  earth, 
Shall  learn  the  lays  of  the  better  land, 
Shall  touch  the  strings  with  a  high  command, 

And  the  joy  of  a  spirit-birth 
Shall  thrill  my  soul  with  a  rapture  grand, 

With  a  fond  and  holy  mirth . 


GIVE    ME   THE    HARP.  211 

Give  me  the  harp,  and  I'll  bid  farewell 

To  the  fleeting  scenes  of  time  ; 
With  the  loved  ones  gone  before  I'd  dwell, 
My  harp  with  theirs  should  the  echoes  swell 

Of  a  high  immortal  rhyme  ; 
Give  me  the  harp,  for  I  fain  would  tell 

Of  release  from  this  world  of  crime. 


212  LINES. 


LINES. 


[On  the  death  of  Harry  Stroud  Caldwell,  son  of  James-H. 
and  the  late  Josephine  Caldwell,  of  this  city  (X.  0.)] 


J. 


SWEET  prattler,  thou  hast  gone  ; 
Gone  to  thy  mother's  loving  arms  again, 
Gone  to  that  home  above  the  homes  of  men. 


II. 


And  should  we  grieve  for  thee  ? 
Grief  is  the  badge  of  weakness  and  distress  ; 
The  Hand  that  gave  in  blessing  we  should  bless. 

III. 

We  mourn,  not  when  the  sun 
Sinks  in  the  West,  for  in  the  mom  'twill  rise 
As  thou  hast  risen — a  £flory  to  the  skies. 


LINES.  213 

IY. 


Thou  wert  not  left  in  pain 
To  pass  a  weary  pilgrimage  on  earth  ; 
Eternal  joy  came  with  thy  "  second  birth." 


Then  no  presumptuous  tear 
Should  tell  of  sorrow  when  our  joy  should  be 
Full,  as  God's  blessings  to  the  soul  set  free. 


214  THE    COMIXG    OF   THE    SPRING. 


THE   COMIXa   OF   THE   SPRING. 

TO   

~TTT"HEX  wintry  winds  through  leafless  boughs 
VV       Discordant  dirges  wail, 

Like  some  great  sorrow  taking  voice 

To  tell  its  mournful  tale, — 
Then  Hope's  prophetic  wisdom  breathes 

Of  Time,  the  fleet  of  wing, 
And  of  the  joys  which  always  crown 
The  coming  of  the  Spring. 

Oh,  lovely  Spring  !  when  vine  and  spray 

Bloom  like  the  prophet's  rod  ; 
When  violets  and  daisies  rise 

From  out  the  virgin  sod  ; 
When  bird  and  insect,  leaf  and  flow'r, 

Life's  joyous  anthem  sing1, 
Who — who  that  feels  can  fail  to  bless 

The  coming  of  the  Spring  ! 

Spring  is  the  time  for  soaring  thought — 

Spring  is  the  time  for  love — 
When  flow'rs  breathe  out  their  fragrant  sighs 

And  music  charms  the  grove ; 


THE   COMING   OF   THE   SPRING.  215 

And,  oh,  in  bliss  my  spirit  soars  : 

To  thee,  my  love,  Fd  bring 
Fair  chaplets,  rich  as  those  which  crown 

The  coming  of  the  Spring. 


216  BROTHERS,    ARISE. 


BROTHERS,    ARISE. 

[Read  before  the  Southern  Literary  Society,  at  its  Tenth 
Anniversary  Celebration,  February  18,  1859.] 

SEE,  on  Time's  dial  the  shadows  receding, 
Moving  abashed  from  the  pathway  of  light. 
List,  the  evangel  of  progress  is  pleading  !' 

Rise  in  your  manhood — contend  for  the  Right ! 
Brothers,  arise  ! 
Strive  for  the  prize  ! 
Run  for  the  goal  that's  eternally  bright  ! 

Long  we've  contended  with  toil  unavailing  ; 

Gathering  wealth,  which  is  dross  ere  it's  won  ; 
Seeking  for  happiness  ;  seeking  and  failing  ; 
Feeding  on  husks,  like  the  prodigal  son. 
Brothers,  arise  ! 
Strive  for  the  prize  ! 
The  labor  of  Life  should  be  manfully  done. 

Freighted  with  poison,  the  air  which  surrounds  us 
Comes  fetid  and  foul  from  the  haunts  of  the  vile; 
Step  where  we  will,  the  contagion  confounds  us ; 
Oh,  let  us  seek  that  which  will  not  defile  ! 
Brothers,  arise  ! 
Strive  for  the  prize  ! 
Shake  off  the  trammels  of  passion  and  guile. 


BROTHERS,    ARISE.  217 

Thousands,  alas,  are  enamored  of  ruin ; 

Downward  they  rush,  like  a  stream  to  the  sea  ; 
Vanity,  folly  and  crime  their  undoing — 
Scarce  do  they  utter  a  prayer  to  be  free  ! 
Brothers,  arise ! 
Strive  for  the  prize  ! 
Be  truly  brave,  and  the  tempter  will  flee. 

Rise  like  the  lark  when  his  song  to  the  morning 

Thrills  with  fresh  joy  all  the  pulses  of  air  ; 
Rise  like  the  sun,  when  the  hills  he's  adorning 
With  emeralds,  flowers,  and  all  that  is  fair  ! 
Brothers,  arise  ! 
Strive  for  the  prize  ! 
Strive  for  a  guerdon  'twere  glory  to  share. 

Oh,  for  a  song  that  would  thrill  as  the  lightning, 
Which  rifts  the  dun  cloud  like  the  glance  of  a  god ! 
Still  purifying,  refreshing  and  brightening 

The  air  that  we  breathe  when  we  wander  abroad. 
Brothers,  arise  ! 
Strive  for  the  prize  ! 
Look  up  to  heaven,  not  down  to  the  clod  ! 

Seek  not  the  trinkets  and  baubles  of  Fashion  ; 

To  bodily  grossness  enslave  not  the  soul : 
March  up  the  age,  with  the  promptings  of  Passion 
Held,  like  a  steed,  by  the  reins  of  control. 
Brothers,  arise  ! 
Strive  for  the  prize  ! 
The  standard  of  Reason  and  Manhood  unroll. 


218  BROTHERS,    ARISE. 

See,  on  Time's  dial  the  shadows  receding, 

Moving  abashed  from  the  pathway  of  light. 
List,  the  evangel  of  Progress  is  pleading  1 
Kise  in  your  manhood — contend  for  the  Right 
Brothers,  arise  ! 
Strive  for  the  prize  ! 
Run  for  the  goal  that's  eternally  bright. 


GONE.  219 


GONE. 

HE  has  gone  ! 

Gone  to  realms  of  light  unending, 
Where  the  hymns  of  earth,  ascending 
Are  with  angel-peans  blending 
As  they  circle  round  the  Throne  ! 

All  the  cares  which  gather'd  round  him, 
While  Time's  earthly  fetters  bound  him, 
Disappeared,  when  Death  had  crown'd  him 
With  a  glory  not  his  own. 

Oh,  then,  weep  not  that  before  us 
He  has  joined  the  deathless  chorus  : 
Still  his  spirit  hovers  o'er  us  ; 
Weep  not,  then,  that  he  has  gone  ! 

Gone  to  realms  of  light  unending, 
Where  the  hymns  of  earth  ascending, 
Are  with  angel-peans  blending 
As  they  circle  round  the  Throne  ! 


220 


A    DREAM. 


I'VE  KISSED  HER  IN  A  DREAM/ 


SHE  moves  along  the  crowded  streets, 
A  vision  fair  and  bright ; 
Her  lustrous  eyes  outshine  the  stars 

Which  gem  the  halls  of  Night. 
Her  lips  arc  Love's  delighted  throne  : 

Her  cheeks  twin  roses  seem  ; 
And  oh,  the  bliss — the  more  than  bliss — 
I've  kissed  her  in  a  dream  1 


Her  voice  is  music,  and  her  step 

Is  light  as  Zephyr's  tread  ; 
'Tis  Paradise  where'er  she  is  ; 

'Tis  rapture  to  be  led 
By  her  soft  hand  through  phantom-lands, 

Where  love  is  all  the  theme  ; 
And  oh,  the  bliss — the  more  than  bliss — 

I've  kissed  her  in  a  dream  ! 

*  This  song  has  been  set  to  music. 


I'VE    KISSED    HER   IN    A   DREAM.  221 

Let  others  praise  their  work-day  loves, 

And  pledge  them  in  their  wine, 
Thought-blossoms,  cull'd  in  fairy  groves, 

I'll  wreathe  in  song  for  mine. 
She's  fair  as  heav'n,  and  dear  and  pure 

As  sunlight's  primal  beam  ; 
And  oh,  the  bliss — the  more  than  bliss — 

I've  kissed  her  in  a  dream  ! 


THE    PARTIXG. 


THE   PAKTING. 


UPON  a  lawn,  at  early  dawn, 
They  stood,  with  tearful  eyes — 
The  fair  and  gentle  Annie  Ware, 
And  valiant  Willie  Wise. 

"  Willie,"  said  she,  most  tenderly, 
"  Will,  will  you  still  be  true, 

And  will  you  fight  as  valiant  knight 
And  lover  bold  should  do  ?" 

"  I  will,"  said  Will,  his  horse  meanwhile 

Impatient  of  delay, 
Began  to  neigh  with  stately  pride 

For  fear  he  might  say  nay. 

"  And  oh,  beware  1"  fair  Annie  cried, 
Her  words  half  choked  with  sighs : 

He  soon  replied,  "  I  will  be  ware 
If  you  will  but  be  Wise  !" 

A  kiss  was  his  reward,  and  then 

He  mounted  on  his  steed, 
And  for  her  sake  determined  to 

Do  valiant  deeds  indeed. 


THE    PARTING.  223 

In  pearls  the  dew  hung  on  the  grass 

When  thus  he  sighed  adieu  ! 
"And  must  I  part,  alas!  alas  ! 

With  such  a  lass  as  you  ?" 

NEW  ORLEANS,  December,  1863. 


224         SOXG  OF  THE  NEW  YEAR. 


SONG  OF  THE  NEW  YEAR. 

HARK  !  'tis  the  midnight  chime, 
Which  speaks  the  march  of  Time, 
And  calls  up  gushing  memories  of  the  departed 

year ; 

Still,  as  the  music  swells 
High  from  sonorous  bells 

Hope  draws  her  horoscope  and  visions  bright  ap 
pear. 

Grandly  the  train  conies  on  ; 

Not  spectres  pale  and  wan 
Are  those   prophetic  thoughts  which   make   the 
future  bright, 

But,  of  supernal  mould, 

Decked  in  their  robes  of  gold, 
Come  they,  the  harbingers  of  liberty  and  light. 

One  with  it  Science  brings, 

Science,  too  deep  for  Kings, 
Wider  than  worlds  in  the  circuit  of  its  sweep. 

Near  as  our  souls  are  near  ; 

Dear,  as  our  hopes  are  dear  ; 
Pure  as  the  stars  which  are  mirrored  in  the  deep. 


SONG    OF   THE    NEW   YEAR.  225 

One,  with  persuasive  voice, 
Bids  the  oppressed  rejoice, 
And  shouts  the  song  of  Freedom  in  the  tyrant's 

very  ear  ; 

Shouts,  till  from  hill  and  wold 
Come  forth  the  true  and  bold — 
Come  forth  to  battle  armed  with  gun  and  sword 
and  spear. 

One  seems  in  faith  to  rise, 
Seeking  with  earnest  eyes 
For  Wisdom's  ways  of  pleasantness  ar.d  gentle 

paths  of  peace : 
These,  as  a  golden  road, 
Lead  to  the  blest  abode, 

Where  all  the  weary-laden  rest  and  earthly  sor 
rows  cease. 

List  to  the  prophet  train, 
Ye  who  have  felt  the  pain, 
The  sorrow  and  the  falsehood  and  the  vanities  of 

life; 

List,  and  in  faith  be  strong, 
Braving  the  false  and  wrong, 
Come  forth  and  prove  yourselves  heroic  in  the 
strife. 

Shake  off  all  slavish  fears, 
Nurst  amid  cares  and  tears, 
When  darkness  rested  on  the  world,  an  incubus 
of  gloom, 


226  SONG    OF   THE    NEW    YEAR. 

Rise  in  thy  human  might  ! 
Strike  for  the  true  and  right  ! 
Then  thou  may'st  look  in  hope  beyond  the  silence 
of  the  tomb. 

Far  from  earth's  prison  bars 

Bright  homes  beyond  the  stars 
Welcome  the  ransomed  who  have  shaken  off  the 
clay — 

Homes  where  the  blessed  meet ; 

Oh  !  for  the  loved  retreat, 
Bathed  in  the  radiance  of  an  eternal  day  ! 


SCIENCE    AND   ART.  22 1 


SCIENCE  AND  ART. 

TIME  had  commenced  his  flight.     The  eternal 
hills, 

To  the  deep-sounding  music  of  the  spheres, 
Were  marshaled  into  place.     Old  Ocean's  bounds 
And  limits  were  determined,  and  the  floods 
Filled  all  his  caves  with  an  unceasing  song, 
Which  rose  and  fell,  to  suit  the  dance  of  worlds. 

JTwas   spring — Earth's    primal   spring — birds 

were  abroad  ; 

The  air  was  vocal  with  their  hymns  ;  and  flowers 
Laughed,  on  the  first  unfolding  of  their  sweets, 
To  greet  the  gladsome  day. 

Eden  was  happy  then.     No  shade  of  ill 
Had  ever  rested  on  her  virgin  bowers, 
And  angel  visitants  from  their  high  homes 
Approved  and  wondered  at  the  geu'ral  joy. 

Beside  Euphrates'  strenrn  two  youths  reclined, 
Half  mortal,  half  immortal  iu  their  form. 
Beauteous  they  were  ;  but  unto  human  eyes 


228  SCIENCE    AND    ART. 

They  wore  a  dim  and  unsubstantial  shape, 

Like  the  faint  shadows  of  a  passing  dream. 

Angels  could  see  them  ;  and  to  such  they  seemed 

A  strange  and  undeveloped  mystery — 

The  pride  and  glory  of  the  coining  time — 

The  wonder  of  the  ages  yet  to  be ! 

One,  SCIENCE  called,  had  a  clear  God-like  brow, 

And  eyes,  far-seeing,  yet  of  gentlest  cast  ; 

The  other,  ART,  seemed  the  embodiment 

Of  every  germ  of  skill  and  plastic  power. 

Alike,  and  still  unlike  !     As  brothers,  they 

Spoke  of  their  earthly  mission.     They  surveyed 

The  work  to  each  allotted,  and  agreed 

That  through  the  thought  and  by  the  hands  of 

man 

That  work  should  be  performed.     Invisible, 
They  were  to  act  a  gentle  prompter's  part, 
And  by  a  spirit-chain  of  faith  and  love, 
All  humanized  with  emulative  pride, 
They  were  to  lead  men  on  to  noble  deeds 
At  which  their  peers  should  wonder  and  rejoice. 

Time  passed.    Earth's  plains  were  peopled.   Art 

commenced 

The  prefatory  wonders  of  his  work. 
But  at  the  first  men's  hands  were  slow  to  shape 
The  prompt  designings  of  suggestive  thought 
Which  came,  they  knew  not  whence.     Soon  Prac 
tice  gave 
Fresh  pliancy  to  every  finger's  joint, 


SCIENCE    AND   ART.  229 

Till,  from  the  deep,  dark  caverns  of  the  earth, 
Ores  were  brought  forth  and  moulded,  as  they  list, 
Who,  tutored  into  cunning  workmanship, 
Gould  ply  the  hammer  and  could  forge  the  steel. 
Then  the  rude  loom  and  the  still  ruder  plough, 
And  arms  for  warfare,  and  the  woodman's  axe — 
First  fruits  of  labor  and  constructive  skill — 
Appeared  and  claimed  a  lasting  meed  of  praise. 
Science  looked  on,  well  pleased.     In  the  deep  earth 
From  which  the  ores  were  taken,  caverns  wide 
Were  found,  with  rocks  o'er-written  by  a  pen, 
Whose  marks  were  yet  a  marvel  and  unread. 
And  Science  breathed  on  men,  and  bade  them  scan 
Whate'er  was  new  and  wonderful  and  strange. 
Mountains  were  climbed  ;  and  where  volcanic  fires 
Poured  forth  their  burning   floods,  and   flashed 

their  flames 

In  lurid  grandeur  'gainst  the  starlit  sky, 
There  Science  took  his  way  with  studious  step 
To  study  Nature's  Book  of  Mysteries. 
He  sought  the  leafy  grove,  the  flow'ry  plain, 
The  trickling  rill,  the  fountain's  cooling  flow, 
And  Ocean's  vast  and  yet  defiant  plain, 
To  learn  of  them  their  wonders.     These,  when 

learned, 

In  dreams  were  whispered  into  human  ears, 
Till  men,  from  deepest  sleep,  would  start,  surprised 
At  revelations  which  came,  as  the  winds, 
Whose  source  they  knew  not.     Phantom  forms  of 

things— 


230  SCIENCE   AND   ART. 

The  air-drawn  antitypes  which  were  to  be 

The  workman's  guide  to  frame  inventions*  strange, 

Would  start  from  naught  and  seem  reality. 

And  Art,  through  human  hands  would  give  them 

shape, 

Moulding  the  wood,  the  metal  and  the  clay, 
As  willing  aids  in  man's  progressive  path. 

Time  circles  on  :  The  storm-defying  bark 
Floats  proudly  o'er  the  waters  :  On  the  heights 
The  pride-suggested  tower  is  upreared, 
To  penetrate  above  the  fleecy  clouds, 
And  solve  the  azure  mysteries  of  heaven. 
The  brush,  the  pencil  and  the  chisel  seem 
To  glow  with  mystic  life.     Beneath  their  touch 
Dull  matter  put  on  an  attractive  guise 
Of  counterfeit  existence.     These  proclaim 
The  works  of  Art— of  daring,  skillful  Art— 
Who,  when  the  earth  was  young  in  centuries, 
Outstripped  his  god-like  brother  in  the  race, 
And  on  his  brow  the  boasted  laurel  bore. 
Science  approval  gave  ;  his  soaring  thought, 
Uneuvious,  traced  the  circuit  of  the  stars  ; 
Eead  with  deep  skill  the  wondrous  lore  of  heaven  ; 
Sought  in  the  thunder-cloud  its  sacred  fire, 
And  tamed  it  for  man's  use  in  after  years  ; 
Stooped  to  the  boiling  caldron  and  inquired 
Of  steam  its  hidden  force  ;  asked  of  the  brook, 
That  laughed  and  danced  along  its  pebbly  way, 

*  This  term  is  used  in  a  strictly  mechanical  sense. 


SCIENCE   AND   ART.  231 

If  pow'r  it  had  to  turn  the  ponderous  wheel, 

And,  tireless,  work  ungrudgingly  for  man  ? 

The  answers  were  earth's  riches.     Long,  long  years 

Careered  through  changeful  seasons,  and  were  lost 

In  the  oblivious  Lethe  of  the  Past, 

Ere  the  full  force  of  all  those  mysteries 

Could  be  impressed  upon  the  finite  mind. 

Thus,  in  their  relative  though  separate  spheres, 

Toiled  Art  and  Science  for  the  human  race. 

What  Science  pointed  with  prophetic  thought 

Art  would  embody  with  realities  ; 

And  when  Art  failed  in  strivings  for  mankind, 

Science  suggested  ready  remedies. 

The  trembling  needle,  faithful  to  the  pole, 

Approves  their  joint  endeavor.     O'er  the  sea, 

Through  storm  and  darkness,  still  it  points  the 

way — 

A  trusted  sentinel,  which  knows  no  change, 
Though  all  around  it  changes.     Theirs  the  skill 
Which  marries  music  to  "  immortal  verse  " 
To  chant  progression's  peans.     Theirs  the  pow'r 
Which  chains  the  restive  vapor  to  the  car 
And  strong-bound  bark,  and  bids  it  urge  them  on, 
Fleet  as  the  wind,  though  gravitation's  laws 
And  fiercest  storms  opposing  may  defy. 
Theirs  is  the  might,  whose  god-light  majesty 
Has  bound  the  electric  messenger  of  heaven — 
Made  it  the  minister  of  human  thought — 
Taught  it  the  varied  languages  of  earth — 
And  sends  it,  swift  as  coursers  of  the  sun, 


232  SCIENCE   AND   ART. 

O'er  mountain  tops — through  seas — till  distant 

lands 

Whisper  familiar  in  each  other's  ears, 
As  lovers,  when  together.     Yast  and  grand 
As  such  twin  triumphs  are,  they're  still  as  naught, 
Compared  with  wonders  which  are  yet  to  be, 
When  Art  and  Science  ope  their  ampler  store  1 


ELLA   LEE.  233 


ELLA    LEE. 

"T~  IKE  the  stars  which  sparkle 
I  J     In  the  azure  height, 
Brightening  the  darkness, 

Beautifying  night, 
Are  thine  eyes  to  me, 
Lovely  Ella  Lee — 
Are  thine  eyes  to  me, 
Oh,  my  lovely  Ella  Lee. 

Like  the  rose  which  blushes 

In  the  garden  fair, 
Making  purer,  sweeter, 

All  that's  blooming  there, 
Are  thy  cheeks  to  me, 
Lovely  Ella  Lee — 
Are  thy  cheeks  to  me," 
Oh,  my  lovely  Ella  Lee. 

Like  the  rays  of  gladness, 

Early  morning  throws 
Over  fields  and  flowers, 

Blushing  in  repose, 


234  ELLA   LEE. 

Are  thy  smiles  to  me, 
Lovely  Ella  Lee — 
Are  the  smiles  to  me, 
Oh,  my  lovely  Ella  Lee. 

Like  the  ruby  portals 

To  the  realms  of  bliss, 
Where  Elysian  maidens 
Welcome  with  a  kiss, 
Are  thy  lips  to  me, 
Lovely  Ella  Lee — 
Are  thy  lips  to  me, 
Oh,  my  lovely  Ella  Lee. 


THE    VOYAGE    OF    LIFE.  235 


THE  VOYAGE  OF  LIFE. 

a  morn  in  Spring,  and  the  perfumed  air 
I       Seems  freighted  with  treasures  of  answered 

prayer  ; 

From  the  groves  and  hills  come  a  matin  song, 
Which  the  sylvan  echoes  in  joy  prolong, 
As  if  to  tempt  from  the  bending  skies, 
Sweet  angel  voices  with  kind  replies. 

Before  me  runneth  a  wondrous  stream, 
Bearing  all  things  on  like  a  changeful  dream  ; 
There  are  hopes  and  joys,  there  are  cares  and 

tears, 

There  are  cherished  trophies  of  by-gone  years  ; 
There  are  vessels  laden  with  pearls  and  gold, 
With  the  jewels  bought,  with  the  jewels  sold, 
With  wealth  that  can  neither  be  sold  nor  bought, 
With  thoughts  that  can  neither  be  tamed  nor 

taught, 

With  willing  hearts — like  the  fruitful  vine 
Which  yields  at  the  harvest  its  oil  or  wine — 
With  care  and  shame,  with  disease  and  sin — 
All  that  man  can  lose — all  that  man  can  win  ! 


236  THE  VOYAGE   OP   LIFE. 

The  stream  is  Time,  and  its  onward  roll 
Is  to  that  bright  realm — the  eternal  goal, 
Which  the  eye  of  Faith  can  discern  afar 
By  the  light  of  an  uncreated  Star.* 

Now  I  see  a  bark  pushing  out  from  shore, 
At  the  prow  is  Hope,  at  the  stern  an  oar  ; 
In  the  midst  two  children  awake  to  play, 
While  the  bright  sun  silvers  their  shining  way  ; 
They're  young  immortals  and  "  outward  bound  " — 
May  their  keel  ne'er  touch  on  enchanted  ground  ! 
May  they  safely  pass  by  the  tempting  isles 
Which  pleasure  gilds  with  deceitful  smiles  ! 
When  the  storms  arise  and  the  tempests  blow, 
In  whom  to  trust  may  they  always  know. 

See,  tired  of  play,  on  their  mother's  breast 
Now,  calm  and  trustful,  they  sink  to  rest ! 
The  father  urgeth  the  shallop  on 
While  the  sea  is  calm — ere  the  light  hath  gone. 

A  change  :  There's  a  book  on  a  teacher's  knee, 
In  which  thoughts  take  form  that  the  eye  can  see. 
The  teacher  teacheth  the  growing  child, 
And  points  to  the  fountains  that,  undefiled, 
Pour  forth  for  the  world  their  refreshing  streams, 
Where  the  light  of  Science  and  Learning  gleams. 

*  The  Star  of  Bethlehem. 


THE  VOYAGE    OF   LIFE.  237 

The  teacher  teacheth  of  earth  and  sky — 
How  the  mortal  form  must  decay  and  die  ; 
How  the  light  of  Wisdom  and  warmth  of  Love 
Must  come  from  supernal  realms  above, 
And  how,  unyielding  to  Death's  control, 
Forever  liveth  the  human  soul. 

What  a  noble  labor,  if  rightly  done  1 
What  harvest  treasures  there  may  be  won 
From  the  goodly  soil  where  each  chosen  seed 
Bears  a  precious  thought  or  a  precious  deed. 

Still  on  and  on  doth  the  vessel  glide  ; 
Still  on  and  on,  through  the  yielding  tide. 
They're  glowing  landscapes  it  passes  now  ; 
The  sun  is  gilding  the  mountain's  brow, 
And  stream,  and  meadow,  and  hill,  and  plain, 
Are  singing  gaily  :  "  Not  made  in  vain  .'" 
When  nature  thus  on  the  young  heart  smiles, 
And  Hope  is  pointing  to  laughing'  isles, 
Is  it  strange  that  some  will  be  led  astray 
Into  paths  which  promise  a  golden  way — 
That  seeking  pleasure,  they  gather  woes, 
And  feel  the  thorn  when  they  pluck  the  rose  ? 

I  see  the  vessel — she  still  moves  on — 

But  where  are  the  father  and  mother  gone  ? 

Where  are  the  sister  and  teacher,  too  ? 

They  have  disappeared  from  my  searching  view. 


238  THE  VOYAGE   OF  LIFE. 

Perhaps  they  sleep  in  the  ocean  caves, 
Or  were  laid  to  rest  in  some  land  of  graves. 
It  matters  not — they  are  gone,  all  gone, 
But  still  the  vessel  careereth  on. 

What  sound  is  that  ?  'tis  a  lover's  sigh  ; 
Like  a  breathing  zephyr  it  passes  by  ; 
Both  joy  and  sadness  are  in  its  tone, 
But  the  lover  who  breathes  it  is  not  alone  ! 
"  Father  and  mother  the  son  shall  leave  ; 
And  unto  his  wife  he  shall  kindly  cleave." 

The  radiant  sun  in  his  golden  march 

Hath  wandered  high  up  in  the  heavenly  arch  ; 

And  when  again  I  the  bark  behold, 

A  tale  of  love  and  of  life  is  told. 

I  see  a  wife  and  a  mother  there  ; 

They  ask  a  husband's  and  father's  care, 

A  sword  and  a  helmet  are  hanging  near, 

With  a  trusty  shield  and  a  trusty  spear, 

And  the  proud  man  saith  :  "  I'm  secure  from  harm 

In  my  own  brave  heart — in  my  own  strong  arm." 

Boast  not,  O  man,  in  thy  pride  of  strength, 
For  the  stoutest  oak  shall  decay  at  length  ; 
Thy  years  glide  on  like  a  tale  that's  told  ; 
With  each  fleeting  breath  thou  art  growing  old  ! 

A  storm  ! — The  sky  is  becoming  dark ; 
There's  danger  now  for  that  poor,  frail  bark, 


THE  VOYAGE    OF  LIFE.  239 

For  the  winds,  like  demons,  arc  howling  by, 
And  the  lightnings  burst  from  an  angry  sky. 
Where  now  are  thy  boasted  sword  and  spear  ? 
Thy  shield  and  helmet  ?     What  !  dost  thou  fear  ? 
Art  thou  not  lord  of  this  lower  earth — • 
A  king,  by  the  vested  rights  of  birth  ? 
Stretch  forth  thy  hand  by  thy  royal  will, 
And  say  to  the  tempest :  "  Peace  !  be  still  1" 

Ah,  weak,  indeed,  is  the  might  of  man, 
When  it  wars  'gainst  a  heav'n-appointed  plan  ; 
And  his  highest  light  e'er  in  science  won 
Is  a  glow-worm's  ray  to  the  burning  sun  ! 

The  storm  is  over.     With  humbler  mien, 
Now  seated  his  wife  and  his  son  between, 
The  husband  speaks  of  the  dangers  past, 
And  points  to  the  Ocean,  unknown  and  vast, 
Where  Faith  discerneth  the  starry  isles, 
And  Welcome  weareth  •eternal  smiles. 
Husband  and  father  !  mother  and  wife  ! 
These  are  the  ties  of  this  lower  life ; 
These  are  the  links  of  a  golden  chain 
Which  wrong  and  sorrow,  and  sin  and  pain, 
Cannot  wholly  tarnish — the  links  of  love 
Which  bind  on  earth  as  in  heaven  above. 

Old  age  comes  on,  and  approaching  night 
Casts  a  sadd'ning  shade  over  all  things  bright, 
Save  the  rosy  tinge  of  the  glowing  West, 
Which  seems  the  smile  of  some  land  more  blest. 


240  THE  VOYAGE    OF  LIFE. 

The  son  now  stands  by  the  father's  side  ; 
From  a  page  illumed,  as  they  onward  glide, 
He  reads  of  a  prisoner  by  Death  set  free — 
Of  the  life  beyond— of  the  Yet-to-Be. 

Bear  up,  brave  heart !  it  is  almost  o'er, 
For  near  appeareth  a  welcome  shore, 
A  pleasant  land  where  the  roses  twine — 
A  land  which  floweth  with  milk  and  wine. 
Though  the  chill  of  death  steals  o'er  thee  now, 
A  holy  halo  enwreathes  thy  brow  ; 
And,  waiting  above  thee,  an  angel  band 
Wave  the  oriflamme  of  the  Better  Land  ; 
They  beckon  thy  soul  from  its  house  of  clay, 
And  wait  to  bear  thee  away — away. 

The  sun  has  set,  and  the  night  appears. 

A  widowed  mother  I  see  in  tears  ; 

O'er  a  lifeless  body  she  bends  in  prayer, 

And  saith,  "  Ere  long  I  shall  join  him  there  1" 

Her  finger  points  to  the  homes  on  high, 

In  the  tearless  realms  of  the  upper  sky. 


NEW  "YEAR  DAY.  241 


NEW  YEAR  DAY.— JAN.  IST,  1863. 


A    NOTHER  year  is  ended,  and  the  glare 
_Zju     Of  burning  cities  lights  the  lurid  sky. 

Another  year  of  carnage  !     Where,  0,  where 

Is  HeavVs  avenging  hand  ?     Great  God,  draw 
nigh, 

List  to  the  widow's  wail ;  the  orphan's  cry  ; 

Give  speedy  answer  to  a  people's  prayer  ; 

Send  forth  Thy  rainbow-promise  from  on  high  ; 

Make  Sorrow's  children  Thy  supernal  care ; — 
Give,  gracious  Giver,  give — for  thou  alone  canst 
spare. 

II. 

Joy  bells  are  sounding  !   This  is  New  Year's  day, 
Flags  flutter  gaily  in  the  wanton  breeze  ; 
Proud  martial  notes  discourse  across  the  way, 
And  victor  shouts  are  heard  on  land  and  seas. 
These  are  War's  triumphs  !    These — not  only 

these, 

But  blood,  and  desolation,  and  distress, 
And  tales  of  terror,  such  as  well  might  freeze 
The  currents  of  young  life.     O,  who  can  bless 
The  fearful  might  of  war,  or  welcome  its  caress  ? 


242  NEW   YEAR   DAY. 

III. 

Time  was  when  Commerce  thronged  our  busy 

streets  ; 

When  Labor  toiled  for  the  rewards  of  peace  ; 
When  every  sea  was  whitened  with  the  fleets 
That  brought  or  bore  away  our  golden  fleece. 
But  with  war's  triumphs  those  of  Commerce  cease. 
The  bugle's  note  has  drowned  the  hum  of  trade. 
"  Business  suspended"  means  a  sad  decrease 
Of  all  life's  comforts.    How  pure  home  joys  fade 
When  men  for  vengeance   have   through  blood 

to  wade  ! 

IV. 

Come,  gentle  Peace,  come  back  to  us  again  ; 
Come  in  thy  old  and  well-beloved  guise  ; 
Come  with  the  glories  of  thy  happy  reign  ; 
Come  with  the  laws  which  freemen  ever  prize  ; 
Come  as  an  answer  to  a  people's  cries  ; 
Come  with  the  power  to  shield  and  to  restrain  : — 
Thy  laws  are  love,  thy  counsels  ever  wise, 
And  though  thou  never  canst  restore  the  slain, 
There's  healing  in  thy  voice— a  balm  for  every  pain. 

v. 

Sorrow  has  draped  our  garments  with  its  weeds  ; 
May  joy  again  its  blessed  brightness  bring. 
From  gaping  wounds  our  stricken  country  bleeds; 
Let  peace  unending  from  the  carnage  spring. 


NEW   YEAR   DAY.  243 

New  trees  shall  blossom  and  new  birds  shall  sing 
Above  the  cold  graves  of  the  buried  Years  ; 
Then  to  the  lessons  of  the  past  we'll  cling, 
Washing  away  our  errors  with  our  tears  ; 
Seeking  the  Faith  which  guides,  the  Hope  sublime 
which  cheers. 

VI. 

Then  MERRY  NEW  YEAR'S  to  the  people  all, — 
Though  merriment  is  sadly  out  of  place, 
When  o'er  our  land  descends  a  bloody  pall, 
Shading  the  forms  of  stateliness  and  grace. 
Look  to  the  Future  : — By  Hope's  day-star  trace 
A  horoscope  in  lines  of  living  light, 
And,  ere  the  Past  its  record  can  erase, 
Another  sun  shall  rise,  so  purely  bright 
That  all  the  land  shall  say — It  is  no  longer  night  ! 


244      A  POETICAL  BOUQUET  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES, 


A  POETICAL    BOUQUET    OF    THE 
UNITED   STATES. 

Alphabetically  Arranged. 
ALABAMA. 

ALA — alas  !  fair  Alabama  stands, 
A  crownless  queen  amid  her  fertile  lands  ; 
While  her  fond  river  murmurs,  "  Here  we  rest !"  * 
A  barbed  arrow  rankles  in  her  breast. 

ARKANSAS. 

Ark  of  a  people's  hope,  brave  Arkansas, 
Thy  fabled  "tooth-pick"  is  no  longer  law; 
But  thy  strong  arm  and  earnest  might  shall  prove 
A  land's  redemption  and  the  shield  of  love. 

CALIFORNIA. 

Come,  California,  all  thy  wealth  unfold  : — 
Those  streams  are  wine ;  those  rocks  are  virgin  gold. 
Prolific  Nature  in  some  partial  hour 
Bestowed  on  thee  her  fairest,  richest  dower. 

*  "  Here  we  rest,"  is  the  signification  of  the  Indian  word 
Alabama. 


A  POETICAL  BOUQUET  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES.       245 


COLORADO. 


A  maid  among  the  mountains,  fair  and  strong : 
Hail,  Colorado  !     Unto  thee  belong 
The  soul  that  thrills  ;  the  eye  whose  liquid  fire 
Can  burn  in  hate  or  kindle  soft  desire. 


CONNECTICUT. 

Con  me  this  riddle  :  Canst  connect  I  cut 
With  making  wooden  nutmegs  ?    Aye.    Then  shut 
Thy  double-bladed  knife,  and  let  thy  pride 
Point  to  what  Art  has  with  thy  name  allied. 

DELAWARE. 

Speak  out,  fair  State  !  and  make  the  dell  aware 
That  thou,  in  all  thy  modest  worth,  art  there. 
Through  thy  calm  courts  soft  echoes  faintly  swell, 
Like  memories  which  moan  in  ocean's  shell. 

FLORIDA. 

Fair,  florid,  flowery,  Florida  appears. 
Unending  summer  zones  her  glowing  years, 
While  the  fresh  fountains  of  unfading  youth 
Flow  from  their  depths  to   pledge  her  love  and 
truth. 

*  There  seems  to  be  some  question  whether  Colorado  is  a 
State  or  not,  but  that  is  not  at  all  surprising.  We  have  some 
eccentric  individuals  among  us  who  deny  that  Louisiana  is  a 
State. 


246      A  POETICAL  BOUQUET  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES. 
GEORGIA. 

Gay,  gallant,  great !  let  Georgia  arise, 
Earnest  in  effort  and  in  action  wise. 
Her  fields  are  rich  with  nature's  choicest  stores, 
And  all  her  hills  are  veined  with  golden  ores. 

ILLINOIS. 

O'er  thy  broad  prairies  peace  and  plenty  reign  ; 
And  milk  and  honey,  golden  fields  of  grain, 
And  flocks  and  herds  are  thine,  proud  Illinois  : — 
God  make  thee  great,  and  crown  thy  homes  with 
Joy  I 

INDIANA. 

If  in  Diana,  of  Ephesian  fame, 
Were  "  truth  and  honor,"  worthy  of  the  name, 
What  words  of  praise  can  tell  in  fitting  guise 
Of  Indiana,  great  and  fair  and  wise  ? 

IOWA. 

Proud  Iowa,  thy  children's  love  of  thee 
Is  kin  to  that  which  Yenice  gave  the  sea. 
In  minds,  in  lands,  in  men,  in  love,  in  hate  ; 
Thou  peerless  must  appear — great  'mong  the  great ! 

KANSAS. 

Cradled  in  strife  ;  bleeding  at  every  vein  ; 
The  stars  looked  down  upon  thee  in  thy  pain, 
And  heav'n  decreed  that  thy  fresh  blood  should  be 
Cemented  in  the  seal  of  Liberty. 


A  POETICAL  BOUQUET  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES.       24  7 
KENTUCKY. 

Brave   are   thy  sons,   thy  daughters    pure  and 

bright, 

O,  loyal  land  of  liberty  and  light ! 
The  laurel  and  the  cypress  both  are  thine, 
And  e'en  thy  Boone  and  "Bourbon"  are  divine. 

LOUISIANA. 

"  Sweets  to  the  sweet !"     Let  Louisiana  rise 
And    claim    from    rival    hands    proud    beauty's 

prize : 

Fair  as  a  Seraph's  dream  ;  e'en  through  her  tears 
She  shows  the  trust  that  wins,  the  smile  that 

cheers. 

MARYLAND. 

From  the  dark  bosom  of  Potomac's  wave 
A  wail  comes  forth,  as  voices  from  a  grave  : 
Weep,  Maryland  bereav'd  :  for  tears  like  thine 
Cleanse  like  the  flow  of  sacrificial  wine. 

MAINE. 

Timber  and  tonnage  ;  sailors  and  the  sea  ; 
Lakes,  rivers,  mountains — these  belong  to  thee  : 
Work  to  thy  sons  is  worship— conquest — gain — 
For  wise  men  are  those  "  Maniacs  "  of  Maine. 


248      A  POETICAL  BOUQUET  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES. 
MASSACHUSETTS. 

Now  by  the  mass,  old  Massachusetts  stands, 
"  Hub"  aud  exampler  to  all  other  lands. 
Strong  in  her  faith,  her  learning  and  her  might, 
She  kindles  quarrels  and  bids  others  "fight  1" 

MICHIGAN. 

The  wooing  waters  claim  thee  as  their  bride  ; 
Hound  thy  bold  shores  the  gallant  navies  glide  ; 
And  flood  and  field,  rejoicing  in  thy  fame, 
Become  the  heralds  of  an  honored  name. 

MINNESOTA. 

Pride  of  the  great  Northwest  I     In  hill  and  dale, 
In  flocks  and  herds,  in  streams  which  never  fail, 
In  grand  old  forests — thou  hast  wealth  untold, 
With  health  and  freedom,  dearer  far  than  gold  I 

MISSISSIPPI. 

Gallant  in  war,  a  conqueror  in  peace  : 
Thy  flossy  staple,  more  than  "golden  fleece," 
Brings  riches  to  the  world.     No  brighter  sun 
Than  thine  e'er  beamed  on  glories  to  be  won. 

MISSOURI. 

"  Fixed  as  the  centre."    Throned  o'er  giant  streams 
Which  course  a  continent.     What  mighty  themes 
Before  thy  seers  and  statists  proudly  rise, 
Wooing  thee  on  to  deeds  of  high  emprise. 


A  POETICAL  BOUQUET  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES.     249 

NEBRASKA.* 

Where  rocky  mountains,  spined  against  the  sky, 
The  thunder's  rage  and  lightning's  flash  defy, 
There,  laved  by  restless  rivers,  thou  art  seen, 
Making  the  wilds  rejoice,  the  deserts  green  ! 

NEVADA. 

Land  of  the  snowy  peaks  and  flowing  streams  : 
No  fabled  Plutus  mocks  thee  in  thy  dreams, 
For  all  thy  hills  with  argent  wealth  abound, 
And  e'en  thy  echoes  have  a  silv'ry  sound. 

NORTH    CAROLINA. 

The  miserere  moans  among  thy  pines, 
While  tears  of  amber  flow.     These  are  the  signs 
Alike  of  thy  great  wealth  and  deep  distress  : — 
Pine  not,")"  proud   State,   but  onward,   upward 
press ! 

NEW    HAMPSHIRE. 

New  Hampshire,  hail !  fixed  on  thy  granite  base 
There's  stern  defiance  in  thy  rugged  face. 
Thy  children  smite  the  rock  and  they  are  fed  ; 
Thy  ice  is  more  than  wine,  thy  stones  than  bread  ? 

*  Though  Nebraska  has  not  yet  been  fully  admitted  into 
the  family  of  States,  "  an  enabling  act"  has  been  passed  in 
her  case,  and  she  cannot  be  "kept  out  in  the  cold"  much 
longer. 

t  The  printer's  devil  insisted,  in  this  instance,  that  "  not " 
should  be  printed  "  knot."  We,  however,  resisted  him,  and 
Bent  the  k  off  kiting. 


250      A  POETICAL^BOUQUET  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES. 
NEW   JERSEY. 

0,  Commonwealth  supreme  !    In  sovereign  might, 
Thou  standest  proudly  in  the  nation's  sight : 
"  Fair  play,"  thy  motto  ;  thy  abhorrence,  debt ; 
Thy  cherish'd  self  thou  never  canst  forget. 

NEW   YORK. 

Imperial  State  !     From  Erie  to  the  sea 
Thy  arms  are  stretched  ;  thy  sisters  bow  to  thee. 
Great  in  thy  commerce  ;  great  in  wealth  and  fame  : 
A  thousand  echoes  syllable  thy  name. 

OHIO. 

Thy  beauteous  river,  in  its  liquid  flow, 
Still  chants  thy  name,  and  calls  on  friend  and  foe 
To  join  in  the  great  anthem  of  thy  praise, 
And  bind  around  thy  brow  the  poet's  bays. 

OREGON. 

Where  rolPd  the  Oregon  and  not  "  a  sound 
Save  its  own  dashing,"  stirred  the  deep  profound, 
Now  busy  life  and  smiling  fields  appear, 
And  golden  harvests  crown  the  gladsome  year. 

PENNSYLVANIA. 

Land  of  the  peaceful  Penn  I  thy  fruitful  soil 
Spreads  o'er  rich  beds  of  coal  and  streams  of  oil ; 
The  Union's  keystone  and  thy  people's  pride  ; 
Greater  thy  Penn  than  sword  and  spear  allied  I 


A  POETICAL  BOUQUET  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES.      251 


RHODE    ISLAND. 


Bijou  of  States  !     'Tis  said  thy  soldier  sons 
Must  seek  out  larger  lands  to  try  their  guns. 
Isled  in  thy  great  success  thou  stand'st  alone, 
For  skill  and  thrift  have  claimed  thee  as  their  own. 


SOUTH    CAROLINA. 

Haughty   and    proud,   the    seared    "Palmetto" 

stands, 
Mantled    with    "Southern   Rights."      The   high 

commands 

Of  her  dead  statesman  claim  obedience  yet : 
What  she  once  learns  she  never  can  forget. 


TENNESSEE. 

Tender  and  true  !     I  greet  thee,  Tennessee  ! 
Thy  sorrow  makes  thee  sacred.     Who  shall  be 
The  bard  to  sing  thy  epic  ?     Words  of  fire, 
To  tell  thy  wrongs,  should  flash  along  his  lyre  ! 


TEXAS. 

Land  of   broad    meadows,   corn,    and    oil,   and 
wine —  * 

Land  of  the  neighing  steed  and  grazing  kine — 
Land  of  fruit,  flowers  and  ores — on  man  below, 
No  fairer  heritage  could  heaven  bestow. 


252      A  POETICAL  BOUQUET  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES. 
VERMONT. 

Crowned  with  their  coronal  of  living  green, 
Thy  mountain  heights  smile  on  the  vales  between  ; 
Fair,  happy  vales,  where  love  and  freedom  reign, 
Though  winter  storms  should  whiten  all  the  plain. 

VIRGINIA. 

Mother  of  States  and  statesmen.     Heroes  tread 
Through  thy  historic  halls.     Around  thy  head 
A  glory  grandly  circles.     Hail  to  thee  ! 
Great  in  thy  past — great  shall  thy  future  be  I 

WEST   VIRGINIA. 

0  Child,  dissevered  from  a  noble  line, 
In  thy  new  temple  dost  not  sometimes  pine 
For  the  old  hearth — the  dear  familiar  ties — 
Which,  at  the  thought  of  home,  should  ever  rise  ? 

WISCONSIN. 

Thy  woods  and  prairies  in  their  summer  pride 
Have  all  the  grace  and  beauty  of  a  bride. 
Brave  in  thy  sons  and  fruitful  iu  thy  soil, 
Thine  are  the  triumphs  of  successful  toil. 

TIMES  OFFICE,  New  Orleans,  1866. 


TO-DAY.  253 


TO-DAY. 

FROM  the  tomb  where  buried  ages 
Slumber  on  in  calm  repose, 
Come  the  voices  of  the  sages, 

Freed  from  all  their  weight  of  woes. 
Theirs  are  no  sad  words  of  warning  ; 

To  our  ears  they  seem  to  say  : 
"  Hail  the  dawn  ! — another  morning 
Ushers  in  a  brighter  day  !" 

Hail  the  dawn  !     A  glory  rises 

From  the  brow  of  bard  and  seer  : 
Still  the  world  is  full  of  prizes  ; 

Life  is  still  a  thing  most  dear  : — 
Let  it  not  be  clogged  and  fettered 

By  dead  chronicles  and  creeds  ; 
Waiting  souls  are  only  bettered 

By  high  thoughts  and  noble  deeds. 

But  high  thoughts  and  deeds  to  measure, 
Lower  standards  we  must  know  ; 

Fondest,  keenest  thrills  of  pleasure 
Are  akin  to  pain  and  woe  ; 


254  TO-DAY. 

Tears  of  joy  and  tears  of  sorrow 
From  the  self  same  liquid  eves 

Flow  at  will ;  then  who  would  borrow 
Trouble  from  o'erclouded  skies  ? 


What  though  from  the  tree  of  knowledge 

Bitter  fruit  may  sometimes  fall, 
Where's  the  teacher  in  his  college 

Who  can  promise  good  to  all  ? 
Good  and  evil  grow  together  j 

Yice  is  only  virtue's  foil ; 
Stormy  winds  in  wintry  weather 

Do  not  summer  glories  spoil. 

Let  us,  then,  with  march  progressive, 

Bravely  t'wards  the  goal  advance  ; 
Worthy  toil  is  not  oppressive  : 

Raise  the  banner  !  poise  the  lance  I 
All  around,  the  pregnant  present 

Calls  us  from  our  childish  play; 
Teacher,  thinker,  peer  and  peasant, 

Aid  us  in  our  work  to-day  ! 


COMPENSATION.  255 


COMPENSATION. 

THE  earth  is  lying,  green  and  fair,  beneath 
God's  eternal  smile, 
But  cries  discordant  pulse  along  the  air  from 

hill  and  wold  ; 
And  who  are  these,   the  struggling   hosts,  that 

would  our  shrines  defile, 
And  sell  the  birthright  of  the  free  for  merest 
dross  of  gold  ? 

These   elder   brothers   are  : — they  claim  a  right 

divine  to  rule ; 
On  covenants  of  selfishness  they  set  the  seal  of 

blood  ; 
Unthinking  swords  and  bayonets  are  teachers  in 

their  school ; 

Their  argosies  of  privilege  float  o'er  a  purple 
flood. 

Might  makes  thdr  right.     All  who  oppose  are 

traitors  and  accurs'd, 

And  all  who  meekly  wear  the  yoke  are  "  loyal 
men  and  true." 


256  COMPENSATION. 

With  bold  presumption  they  would  have  all  na 
ture's  laws  reversed, 

And  make  the  many  everywhere  the  vassals  of 
the  few. 

"  Seek  out  the  weak :  let  them  be  taxed,  while 

we — the  strong — divide 

The  honors  and  the  profits,  which  are  our  un 
doubted  right." 
Such  are  the  words  of  arrogance  with  which,  in 

heartless  pride, 
They  issue  cruel  edicts  and  in  selfishness  unite. 

But  still  the  world  moves  grandly  on,  and  Time, 

the  tester,  tries 
Whate'er  is  built  on  high  resolves — whate'er  is 

mean  arid  low — 
He  separates  with  potent  art,  the  foolish  from  the 

wise, 

And  gives  to  Truth  his  crown  of  light,  to  error 
only  woe. 

The  petty  triumphs  of  to-day  may  be  to-morrow's 

ban  ; 
The  failures  which  we  so  lament  may  prove  a 

source  of  joy. 

Man's  wisdom  is  but  foolishness.     In  Heaven's  ap 
pointed  plan 

Life's  mystic  problem  we  evolve — we  build  and 
we  destroy. 


COMPENSATION.  '     257 

What  though  contending  millions  meet  in  battle 

on  the  plain, 
And  fiercely  fight,  and  fiercely  hate,  and  pite- 

ously  bleed  ? 
The  false  cannot  be  made  the  true  by  hecatombs 

of  slain, 
]STor  can  successes  sanctify  a  base,  ignoble  deed. 

Though  all  to  human  eyes  seem  dark,  Jehovah 

rules  unseen, 
And  what  appears  as  wrong  and  hate,  may 

prove  but  notes  of  praise, 
Soon  as  we  reach  the  blissful  fields  of  never-fading 

green, 
Where  floods  of  uncreated  light  illume  earth's 

darksome  ways. 

TIMES  OFFICE,  June,  1866. 


258  LINES. 


LINES. 

[On  receiving  a  pair  of  eye-glasses  from  a  friend.] 

NOW  by  my  beard,  this  is  a  goodly  sight ! 
Transparent  crystals  set  iu  frames  of  gold: 
Through  them,  untaxed,  the  soft  translucent  light 

Comes  to  our  eyes.     A  miracle  !     Behold — 
The  dim,  dull,  clouded  page  grows  clear  and  bold, 
Thought's  mystic  foot-prints  gleam  forth  full  arid 

bright, 

As  when  the  jewels  in  the  robe  of  Night 
To  the  rapt  gaze  of  Sibyl  are  unrolled. 

NEW  ORLEANS,  October,  1865. 


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